Jesus loves me?

The same firm that just boned me apparently feels bad about it and wants me to come back Monday for a different project. OK, there's no fucking way they feel bad about it. There are a couple possible explanations: 1) They think I am magnificent and don't want to let me go (this is totally understandable and innumerable women have felt the same way); 2) they feel bad about fucking me (about as likely as a Buddy Holly and the Crickets reunion tour) or; 3) they needed a warm body and I happened to be standing there when the need arose (Vanna, tell the people what they've won).