This morning on our way to swim team, Andy was asking about all the extra jobs available to him so he could earn more money to buy more Galactic Heroes. (Why the 23 we already own aren’t enough is beyond me. But, to each his own.) So I rambled off the usual list of extra cash producing chores: pulling weeds, dusting the baseboards, washing and vacuuming out the car…
Of course, these menial tasks are for mere chump change and he wants serious dough. So we got to talking about “real” jobs, the kind that pay on the 1st and 15th of every month. He wanted to know how old you have to be, what were some of my first jobs, etc… That’s when Kate piped up from the back seat,
“Oh, I’m so glad I don’t ever have to get a real job!”
“Excuse me? When you’re a teenager, how are you going to pay for things like going out to eat or going to the movies?” I asked.
Now this next part I will quote verbatim. From the horse’s mouth folks:
“Duh! It’s called getting a date? You just walk around real cute and POOF! You get a date to take you to the movies! Problem solved.”
Well, I felt I had to douse that fire real quick with a lot of talk about being strong and independent. But she just nodded and gave me a patronizing smile like I must not have been cute enough during my prime to fill up a dance card much less a steady pipeline of dinner invitations.
As you can see, I’ve got my work cut out for me. Luckily, this is nothing a toilet brush, some Comet and a few rags can’t fix.