The Places We Shall Go…

In a couple of weeks Shaun and I head out for our furthest destination wedding.  With the gas prices dropping a whole penny or so, we might be able to afford a bag of Jerky and a slurpie for the ride there.

The Boobies On Her Lap Therapist called the other day to see when we will be scheduling our next appointment.  I came up with a lame excuse as to why we won’t make it.
I’m still keeping up my diligent half reading of the self help books and spending about 15 minutes a day writing my book on how not to read a self help book.
It’s clear that Shaun has stopped reading R&O because in a conversation I had mentioned the book I was writing.

“Writing?”
“Yes, writing.”
“What’s it called?”
“How to Not Read a Self Help Book”
“Doesn’t that sound like a self help book?”
“No. kinda.”
Then he suggested how to use index cards to plot out the book.
“There is no plot. You know how in books there is conflict and resolution?  Mine is conflict and I don’t know the resolution.”

I think it was at that point that I realized I had no right to write a book.

We then started talking about a possible job solution.  I insist that I want to work where people are happy to see me, like being a locksmith.  Everyone is happy about seeing a locksmith. “My boyfriend broke into my house and stole all my panties, I am SO happy you’re here to change the locks!” “OMG, I locked my keys in….SO glad you’re here!”
A florist too.
There a jobs where people are happy to see people. That is the job I want.  Prostitute. Everyone is happy to see one of those.

How about a locksmithing florist prostitute?