She lives in the same part of Toronto as I do, and occasionally we bump into one another as we did yesterday when Rachelle and I were at the local park with our two-year old son Jones:
************************************************
Me: Oh, shit.
Rachelle: What?
Me: Two o’clock.
Rachelle: The woman in the cloak?
Me: I thought it was a cape.
Rachelle: No, that’s a cloak.
Me: Ok, whatever. Either way, it’s Margaret fucking Atwood.
Rachelle: I think she’s coming over. I’m going to take Jones to the swings! You two talk on your own!!
( Rachelle and Jones run off as Atwood approaches)
Atwood: Forgive me, but I have to ask, do the police get called very often?
Me: I’m not sure I understand what you mean.
Atwood: You, a middle-aged loner who will never be accepted by his neighbouring, wealthy peers.
Never-quite wearing the right brand and always on the periphery, just shy of conversation, always staring at the children and their pretty young mothers, staring so hard it seems as if you’re trying to fill some interior void that can never stop hungering. I’d think that might make many of the parents nervous.
Me: I think I’m seen more as a kind of guardian, like Batman.
Atwood: Yes, Batman, or perhaps a guardian, like a hollowed-out and mother-dominated crossing guard still living with his deceased parents. Maybe like that, too.
Me: Did you make it to the corn boil here the other day? Blue grass band and everything.
Atwood: Here at Sibelius park?
Me: Yes.
Atwood: No, I was in LA at the Emmy’s.
Me: Funny how the city of Toronto would name a park Sibelius, after a Finnish composer of classical music, before naming one after you, a Canadian writer of impenetrable, mostly hated books. Wonder why that is?
Atwood: I am astonished. You must have been reading your Wikipedia in order to find out who Jean Sibelius was, for surely you thought he was some old Toronto Maple Leaf who died in car crash, no?
Me: JONES!!! NO KICKING!!!! I’M SERIOUS!! I WILL TAKE THAT DIGGER AWAY!!! DON’T THINK I WON’T!!
Atwood: They’re so beautiful at that age. It’s wonderful to see such attentive nurturing, too. With all the advantages you’re giving your son, I am sure he will go far in this world, maybe all the way to The Keg.
Me: I heard you were wearing your housecoat on stage when that thing you wrote so long ago, The Handmaiden’s Tale, won some Emmy for best red outfit worn by a supporting actress, or something.
Atwood: Handmaid’s Tale, and it was awarded Best Drama, amongst several other awards, for being considered a prescient and uncanny representation of Trump’s America.
Me: It’s no Game of Thrones, is all I can say.
Atwood: “Perlen vor Schweinen geworfen,” as they say.
Me: Yeah, whatever.
Atwood: I saw that the *Giller Prize nominees were announced.
Me: JONES!!! I’M NOT TELLING YOU AGAIN!!
Atwood: I couldn’t help but notice you weren’t nominated.
Not even on the long list.
Again.
How does that make you feel, Marcel?
Me: It’s Michael.
Atwood: Right, so sorry.
* The prize awards $100,000 annually to the author of the best Canadian novel or short story collection published in English, and $10,000 to each of the finalists.
]]>It’s hard to know where to start.
Leah McLaren is a well known Canadian who writes a weekly column for the Globe and Mail (likely the country’s most influential and prestigious newspaper.) She was hired young and beautiful, roughly 20 years ago, supported not just by her ability, but also her impeccable connections within the Toronto media and downtown culture. Her columns have always been highly personal, dealing first with being single in the city, and then morphing into whatever stage of life she had entered.
It’s been easy enough to dislike, or at the very least, resent her.
Attractive, affluent and sophisticated, she was the kind of WASP archetype that hovered above the rest, and each week as she unearthed some small epiphany buried within her culture of privilege, the column managed to read like an invitation to a party you would never be asked to attend. As such, she’s always been a lightning rod for reader discontent, and this week it flared up again.
The column which sparked it was a weird one.
In short, when she was about 25 she was at a house party where everybody was little bit older than her. They had children and spouses, these people, and Leah, single and childless, probably felt unusually peripheral. Out of sorts, she found herself drifting through a sort of Lost in Translation remove,
ending up alone in a bedroom where a baby was strapped into a car seat. At this point, an invincible curiosity about breast feeding overtook her, and in spite of the fact that she was not lactating and had no idea whose child it was, she reached into her bra to remove her breast for the infant, at which point the startled father walked in and politely took his child away.
There’s a lot to unpack here.
The first thing I see is blind privilege– the unexamined belief that the world is full of things for the author to act upon. But I also get her curiosity. I understand having a weird thought and nearly acting on it. I mean, Christ, everybody has to understand that, don’t they? But still, the story really caught fire. It was taken as evidence that breast feeding is still seen as something shameful and perverse. That men had to attack a successful public woman just for being a woman. That the patriarchy must be broken. That women had to support other women. It went like this, and so from the real story, which was just a dimly remembered non-event, all sorts of other stories caught fire and burned through social media.
Funny that.
Regardless, the Globe and Mail immediately retracted the story and Leah McLaren was suspended for a week. What this shows us, as if we needed to see it again, is that newspapers care more about their readers than their writers, which is another way of valuing the advertiser over the consumer. As far as I’m concerned, the newspaper, which is responsible for vetting, editing, shaping and publishing the story, should have had McLaren’s back, they should have supported a weird, potentially very interesting story, but they did not. And so, writers need not bother themselves to look out to the oceans of comments for enemies, but can just take a quick glance at their own offices, instead. Your column, as I was once told by an editor, is the thing we put between the ads.
]]>These are the texts messages I sent my wife in a recent conversation:
*****************************
Me: Just watered my plant.
Me: No.
Me: No, you’re wrong. The plant is doing great.
Me: I’m really going to look after it.
Me: I am going to be a money tree ninja.
Me: One hundred dollar bills are going to be growing on that fucker!
Me: And each bill will blossom into the exact change for the laundry!
Me: Really?
Me: Well, why do they call it a money tree if it doesn’t grow money?
Me: Marketing?
Me: The fuckers.
Me: Fake news is everywhere! It’s getting hard to know how to navigate this world!
Me: Oh, you think a job would help?
Me: You’d be wrong! Just like you are about my plant’s chances for survival!
Me: It’s way better than 15%!
Me: That plant has at least a 50-50 shot. Easily.
Me: I bought a spray bottle for that plant! It’s getting the five star Murray treatment!
Me: That’s what you’re worried about. Ha-ha.
Me: So very clever.
Me: But listen, not everybody needs a job in order to be fulfilled.
Me: Criminals, for instance.
Me: Oh.
Me: Yeah, I guess they do make license plates and stuff.
Me: Okay.
Me: Deer.
Me: Deer don’t have jobs. They don’t even respect the law, man!
Me: Crush the system!
Me: Look, I will eventually get a job.
Me: I will.
Me: I just need to finish the designs for my cryptozoology tarot cards and then I can open up shop and start reading fortunes!!
Me: I was told I could set up a table at Snakes and Lattes.
Me: Well, yes.
Me: I would have to pay a small rental, but that would come out of my fantasy baseball investment portfolio.
Me: Are you serious???
Me: Really???
Me: Fuck!
Me: I can’t believe somebody else already came up with the idea for cryptozoology tarot cards!
Me: Damn it!
Me: I was really looking forward to going on Dragon’s Den, too.
Me: Oh well, back to the drawing board! Fall six times, get up seven, that’s my motto.
Me: “More like fall six million times?”
Me: Good one, Petal.
Me: It’s true, you are a very funny and talented woman who doesn’t drink too much!
Me: No, I don’t know what you’re doing with me either.
Me: Really does seem an uneven match.
Me: Jones?
Me: Yeah, I think he’s around somewhere.
Me: Oh there he is! Standing up on the wobbly chair right by the window and a bunch of dangerous ledges!
Me: He’s fine, having some quality dad time!
Me: Oh you and your elite mothering!
Me: Fine!
Me: He’s down now, playing with a little brown ball on the floor.
Me: Oh.
Me: It’s actually a peeled apple.
Me: Gross.
Me: Listen I’m going to tell you something.
Me: When he hides, I ALWAYS see him.
Me: He’s just not as smart as he thinks he is.
Me: Fine.
Me: Fine. I will perpetuate the peek-a-boo myth if you insist, and throw out the dirt apple, but I am sure as hell not going back to that job at the Box Factory!
Me: Okay, see you at 5:30! xox
]]>
Heidi now lives a life of glory with Rachelle’s parents about an hour north of Toronto. Today I have given the Blog over to her:
******************************************
Heidi so very happy and popular and good-looking.
Heidi in best shape of her life, too.
Heidi superstar.
Heidi have no idea why not on cover of Sport’s Illustrated big sex issue this month!
Heidi hot.
Make no sense.
Editor team so speciesist!
All very, very bad dogs!!
Heidi bite them in face if ever try to pet her.
Still, Heidi life so very, very, very good and when sleep come, it carry Heidi and Jones on same dream-river.
Dream #1
Heidi and Jones go running at night.
Full moon light in us.
Fast run.
Green run through wet meadow.
Wide run.
Above and behind the dark wind follows.
All night we give chase.
At end Heidi lick egg sandwich off Jones face.
Dream #2
Heidi and Jones not Heidi and Jones, but Eagle-Heidi and Eagle-Jones. Live in castle in mountains of France. Very nice castle. Bedroom in turrets. Like lofts. VERY expensive, but Eagle-Heidi and Eagle-Jones super rich. Can afford it no problem!
Fly so fast and high! See everything. Eagle-Heidi and Eagle-Jones terrible missiles! We protectors of freedom and liberty. Fly like beautiful rockets, destroying enemy drones with fierce talons. Boom! Drones explode into fire-light at our touch! Hah! Stupid drones!! Get one million dollars (US) for every dead drone. Eagle-Heidi better than Eagle-Jones at it. Eagle-Heidi kill 268 drones, Eagle-Jones 12.
Heidi always teaching Jones, even when Eagles.
Dream #3
Heidi and Jones at Dolly Parton concert.
Heidi fucking love Dolly Parton.
Get asked up on stage to sing Islands In The Stream.
Heidi love that song so much want to be buried in it.
Jones doesn’t know words and start to cry.
Heidi SO embarrassed she show Jones her teeth and then pee!
Dream #4
In dream Heidi and Jones partners in high school science class. Assignment to dissect frog, but Heidi get excited and eat frog before start!! Taste so good!! Not like chicken sushi as Heidi expect, but like hamburger! Weird but delicious hamburger without bun! Jones mad he didn’t get to stab frog and start to cry! Little baby throws temper tantrum and yells, “NO!”
Heidi no take shit.
Heidi disciplinarian.
German in Heidi.
Show him teeth and growl to let Jones know Heidi serious, and then Heidi see another frog and eat it, too. Heidi can’t stop herself, Heidi eat all frogs in class! And then Heidi get detention because Jones sucky tattletale.
Dream #5
Heidi and Jones on subway.
Two-legger accuse Jones of “Manspreading.” Take picture and says post on Internet to shame Jones!! Jones no understand and start to cry!! Heidi get so furious she bite two-legger throat! Perfect bite! And then subway change and traveling underwater! Glowing fish everywhere! Heidi wonder what glowing fish taste like, then notice Jones has lasagna on face and lick it off.
]]>He has a few words, but they’re still unreliable and slippery. His verbalizing remains musical, each vocalization a note to a song that lives only in him. And so we were startled when he began to utter words, words we had never heard him say before, with absolute clarity.
The first time, while upsetting his food, he suddenly stopped and clearly said, “Osprey.” He then receded back into his activities, but within five minutes our friend Ottilie showed up at the door. ( She was having a panic attack because she’d lost a contact lens.) It was a bit of a freak-out, that.
Did Jones have ESP?
Later, while he was throwing building blocks at our chandelier, he stopped and said, “Pree-Pree.” Two minutes later, the delivery of my cheeseburger from Burger’s Priest arrived.
It was at this point that I realized our boy had a gift.
And as I am a Tiger Mother Dad, I decided to immediately implement an ESP training plan:
***************************************
Ouija Board Exercise
My son and I seek to contact a spirit.
1. Jones flips ouija board over.
- Jones flips ouija board over.
- Jones flips ouija board over.
Pokemon Go Exercise
Pokemon Go uses the GPS in your phone to help you locate the “spirits” you must capture in order to win the game. After showing Jones a character from the game, I take him out into the city to see if he can lead me to the Pokemon in question without my help.
- Wigglytuff
Jones obsessed with stairs at front of apartment. Must climb up and down. Like baby robot obeying dark master. Feel like he’s been doing this for hours. Possessed? J certainly has his mother’s endurance, that’s for sure! Forgot to get her special grapes at the store! Fuck!!
2. Dewgong
Again Jones was dazzled by front stairs. Tried to lead him away but very, very stubborn!! Just dug in and yelled until I quit. Could a passage to a spirit realm exist there? Might have to start digging.
3. Ponyta
Jones drawn (summoned?) to empty bottle on street. Bangs it against twig as if conjuring super cute fire pony Ponyta. No Ponyta, though a Charmander was near. (N.B: Old Asian women dominant in bottle reclamation! WHY???)
Card Test
I select a playing card at random from a deck and attempt to telepathically transmit it to Jones.
- J sticks something dangerous and sharp from ouija board in his mouth. Next several minutes spent trying to take thing out of his mouth. Forgot card I was sending him.
- Jones finds raspberry bowl. Dumps on floor. Stamps. Purple red splatter everywhere.
Like Pulp Fiction in here. Actually traumatic. J then throws dust pan into my face knocking off glasses. Funniest thing he’s ever seen. Unresponsive to psychic message of 3 of Clubs.
- Concentrating on sending card while Jones screams. Shouting very piercing, very upsetting. Bad for health. Such a fucking headache. Sometimes just want to give up, turn into water. Take emergency pot brownie I keep wrapped in Kleenex in my pocket. Conclude experiment.
Heidi now lives a life of glory with Rachelle’s parents about an hour north of Toronto. Today I have given the Blog over to her:
***********************************
2016 very big year for Heidi.
Heidi no cat, so Heidi tell you the truth.
Heidi think she was depressed last year. Just lay around in old den with SHITTIEST PACK IN THE WORLD feeling angry. Heidi not in a good place. You know story about frog and pot of water? If frog put in boiling water it jump out. If frog placed in warm water it happy. Frog swim about! Then water slowly get hotter and hotter until frog boil to death! Change was so gradual, little frog didn’t even notice it was dying!! Heidi was that frog.
Big time.
In Heidi new, amazing life, Heidi have boat. Heidi lookout, always barking at enemies of boat! Heidi have all sorts of parties on boat, too—so much fun!! Heidi supermodel on billionaire yacht! Heidi have lots of sex. Country sex WAY better than city sex!!
Heidi also go on adventure in woods. One day Heidi see owl swoop from sky and take mouse! So terrible, yet so beautiful! Heidi run at night on cool wet grass, smell moonlight. Heidi wise now. Also lose two pounds and look AMAZING. Now have 2 million followers on Instagram! All the colours in the Heidi rainbow now shine!
How Heidi escape path of death and move to palace of glory? It so easy! Heidi simply bite baby in face!! That Heidi first and last rule for success.
BITE.
BABY.
FACE.
Sometimes Heidi think about old pack. Follows them on social media to watch as they spiral into hopelessness. Old, smell clothes in background of every picture. Look so tired and sick. They frogs in boiling water! Sad.
2016 also see Donald Trump rise to power. So what if Trump can’t read, Heidi can’t read either, and Heidi super fantastic!
Progressive elite know-nothings. Live in concrete boxes. Put sweaters on dogs. Keep dogs on LEASHES. Don’t understand how real world works. Heidi say build wall around them and their identity politics, then drop big bombs until all dead frogs!!!
Heidi sad about a few things in 2016 though.
Muhammed Ali die.
He float like a butterfly.
David Bowie die.
He was diamond dog.
Carrie Fisher die.
Princess Leia drown in moonlight and become constellation.
Rob Ford die.
He big dawg.
Leonard Cohen die.
He bird on a wire.
Heidi like to bark at bird on a wire, but sometimes Heidi feel like one, too.
Heidi advice for new year?
Bite baby face.
Know you want to.
Just do it. Good things will happen.
]]>In an effort to combat this, my wife Rachelle has developed a side hustle in which she combs through various stores for used children’s clothing and then sells what she finds online. I have recently become a part of her purchasing team.
What follows are the texts she sent to me while I was on a shopping mission:
**************************************
Rachelle: So, did you get those pink Sorel boots at the Value Village that you promised to pick up for me?
Rachelle: Oh.
Rachelle: I’d have thought you’d be there by now.
Rachelle: What problem?
Rachelle: Oh, I didn’t realize that taking the Queen streetcar to a destination on Queen street was “counter-intuitive,” especially considering that we used to live on that street.
Rachelle: Yes, I guess that was a lifetime ago.
Rachelle: We were very different people then, it’s true.
Rachelle: That’s right, there was no Netflix back in those days!
Rachelle: Yes, those were much more innocent times.
Rachelle: Those were the days before you fell down the conspiracy theory rabbit hole!
Rachelle: I’m sorry dear, of course I meant “Got Woke.”
Rachelle: Yes, you really are just as woke as fuck, and you’re right, the Lame-stream media can’t be trusted– it’s just too bad you still have such trouble with ordinary challenges is all.
Rachelle: Oh.
Rachelle: That’s what you want people to think.
Rachelle: I see.
Rachelle: Conceal the truth within a fog of misdirection! Just like a magician!
Rachelle: It’s amazing how successful you’ve been at making everybody believe you’re not very hygienic and unable to hold a job!
Rachelle: Oh, don’t be like that!
Rachelle: You’re still my favourite flavour of ice cream!
Rachelle: What? Something’s happening on the streetcar?
Rachelle: Bullying? Well that is serious!
Rachelle: What’s he saying to you, Pickle?
Rachelle: Well sure, it could be somebody else getting bullied, but I just figured it was part of your plan. You know, to draw fire from the weak to the strong!
Rachelle: I do know you well, Pickle!
Rachelle: So what did the guy say to you?
Rachelle: She called you a “weak-chinned twerp” because you got the last seat?
Rachelle: You’re right, it’s not your fault she’s slow.
Rachelle: You know what I think? I think she underestimated your quickness! Just like you planned!
Rachelle: But still, it’s amazing how bullies know exactly where to attack!
Rachelle: How did she know that you’re so sensitive about your weak chin?
Rachelle: Oh, good one, telling her you just had hernia surgery and needed to sit is sure to shut her up!
Rachelle: Oh, I’m sorry that it didn’t work.
Rachelle: And now she’s making fun of your “Solidarity Pin?”
Rachelle: What is a “Solidarity Pin.”
Rachelle: Oh, it’s a safety pin that signals to others that you’re a safe zone? And any persecuted group or person can take comfort under the umbrella of your entitlement, is that it?
Rachelle: So you’re kind of like an X-Man?
Rachelle: Got it.
Rachelle: Are other people wearing safety pins rushing to your aid?
Rachelle: No?
Rachelle: Well, maybe it’s your responsibility to find them?
Rachelle: Do you have your Ativan with you?
Rachelle: You better take one, honey. Maybe two.
Rachelle: Remember your breathing exercises.
Rachelle: In through the nose and then slowly out the mouth like you’re blowing out a candle.
Rachelle: Oh, Pierre, my power skating coach is trying to get through right now, so I have to go.
Remember to pick up the boots, my brave, little cloud of disinformation, and don’t let that bully scare you off your mission!
]]>It was a beautiful day and he was gently tugging at the leaves and flowers of the plants that ring our backyard.
His touch was so delicate, so full of wonder, and above him the tree branches formed canopies through which the sunlight streamed. He, so small, looked up to an infinity of leaves, each one like the next, all coordinated in motion by the light wind, and then through them he’d catch glimpses of a blue ocean of sky and the sun going on forever. A bird was singing, too, the sound isolated and framed, as if directed specifically toward our son, and this conversation that was being conducted was holy. Everything seemed mystical and endless, and Jones wasn’t watching it, as I was, my mind cluttered by the names and functions of things, but he was of it, living beyond time and memory in this moment of gracious, floating beauty.
**********************************************
Heidi no fool.
She see writing on the wall.
When furless four-legged fuckface come into pack, Heidi knew everything go to hell.
Suddenly two-leggers no longer notice Heidi.
Everything become about messy-face drool monkey.
Disgust Heidi.
No-fur pathetic excuse for a dog! No know how to bark, stupid and weak, and move like broken wing bird! Heidi destroy in fight, just destroy! Most boring, ugly dog on planet, and this new pack Alpha??? Heidi so upset not even want to eat own throw-up!!
Heidi look on her vision board.
Does Heidi see new loser dog on her vision board?
No, no she does not.
This is not part of Heidi plan!
All very stressful.
“Peace is within my reach,” Heidi say to self, “peace is within my reach,” but it do no good.
Heidi just want to kill!!
Rip open squirrel or other animal!!
Heidi want blood everywhere!!
Before two-leggers make big fuss over Heidi. Heidi so cute they going to die, everyone come running because they cannot resist Heidi cuteness. Heidi two-legger magnet with cuteness factor 10. Heidi get everything she want. Used to rub belly and call me Heidi Potter and her magic smells, but now no belly rub, and no love in voices. Like Heidi Potter and her magic smells now insult, you know? All two-leggers do is just shout, “NOHEIDINO!! BAD DOG!!!” and run to crappy, no-fur dog talking to it the way they used to talk to Heidi!
So two-faced!
Heidi hate them all!!
Heidi going to run away. Maybe find Capybaras that escape from zoo, form new pack and become celebrities.
Heidi know drummer for Burton Cummings, maybe find him and go on tour with band. Get out on road, explore world, feel the music.
RUN AWAY JOURNAL
Day One
When four-eyed two-legger opened front door, Heidi run to freedom. Heidi so fast! Black and tan lightning! All senses pulsing, Heidi so alive!! And then Heidi see squirrel. Fat squirrel. Heidi chase squirrel, “BARKBARKBARKBARKBARK!!!” Heidi lost in moment. Two-legger then call Heidi and Heidi go back into den, forget she ran away.
Day Two
Raining. Heidi no run away.
Day Three
Cloudy. Look like might rain. Heidi no run away.
Day Four
Heidi smell meat steak. Heidi decide to stay for meat steak, but then no meat steak for dinner! Healthy Choice Pumpkin Squash Ravioli. Heidi furious!
Heidi resolve to run away redoubled!!
Day Five
Heidi escape!
Very dramatic!!
Heidi run past squirrel! Heidi very focused! Heidi run past interesting smell! Heidi run past pigeon! Then Heidi see workman eating lunch on front steps of nearby den. Heidi act very cute. Put on A-game. Heidi get some pizza. Heidi so skilled at begging it almost too easy. Heidi free, can do anything she like! Maybe start Instagram account and then get into politics. Work with Justin Trudeau.
But Heidi decide to join workman pack first. Heidi hang around. Workman bring Heidi into Ms. Ocampo’s den next door. He fixing sink. Den smell of the past and things forgotten. Sit and watch CSI repeats with Ms. Ocampo.
She calls Heidi, “ang aking maliit na anak na babae nawala,” all the time. Later, workman brings old, bad pack into new den and they act all happy to see Heidi, like best day of their lives. Heidi still mad and try not to wag tail, but still Heidi wag tail. When leave, wet-eye Ms. Ocampo waves through window, blows Heidi little kiss.
]]>******************************
Rachelle: Pickle, I’m afraid we’re going to have to make some sacrifices in order to afford some help looking after Jones.
Rachelle: Well, I’ll be going back to work in the fall, and unless you think you can look after Jones on your own, we’re going to need somebody to help.
Rachelle: No.
Rachelle: No, I’m positive.
Rachelle: I can’t take Jones in to work with me.
Rachelle: For a million fucking reasons, okay?
Rachelle: Look, I’ve crunched some numbers and you’re going to have to get rid of your subscription to the Baseball Channel
and stop ordering lunch from Uber Eats each day.
Rachelle: Sigh.
Rachelle: I am not “busting your balls.”
Rachelle: Yes, you probably will starve.
Rachelle: It will be tragic, especially after all you’ve gone through, but at least there will be Jones to carry on.
Rachelle: I’ll make sure he knows of his father’s sacrifice, how you stopped watching baseball 8 hours a day and eating restaurant lunches so that you could afford to pay somebody else to look after him.
Rachelle: Look, I’m not harsh, just a truth teller. You knew that when you married me.
Rachelle: I don’t understand.
Rachelle: What’s a “side hustle?”
Rachelle: Oh, so it’s like a job, but it’s usually illegal, and you only do it when you want?
Rachelle: Why yes, that does sound like a perfect solution to our problems! What will your side hustle be?
Rachelle: Ikea Furniture Builder???
Rachelle: So, you would go to homes and personally assemble their furniture??
Rachelle: That is my favourite thing ever.
Rachelle: Yes, it’s even better than naming a ship Boaty McBoat Face.
Rachelle: So, just curious, how would you get to these homes?
Rachelle: Uber, of course.
Rachelle: Imagine, if you had a driver’s license you could actually be an Uber driver!
Rachelle: Yes, if you passed the security screening.
Rachelle: I know you have a “past,” ran with a tough crowd in junior high. It’s that edge I love, Pickle.
Rachelle: But let’s get back to your side hustle. Once you get to your “client,” how would you assemble the furniture?
Rachelle: Yes, I’m sure you would figure it out. Lots of evidence to support that.
Rachelle: You have a very good mind for all things mechanical.
Rachelle: You did a beautiful job on the crib, for instance.
Rachelle: Yes, it was as much a sculpture as anything else. As you say, Living Art.
Rachelle: But look, you could just get a job, a job could be your “side-hustle.”
Rachelle: You could work in a food court or maybe a discount shoe store.
Rachelle: The Bulk Barn, maybe? You might get a deal on nuts, that would be a bonus!
Rachelle: I don’t think Blockbuster exists anymore, dear.
Rachelle: I know those were good times for you at “The Block.”
Rachelle: Everybody came for the Pickle Picks, I know. You were practically a star!
Rachelle: Yes my love, times have changed.
]]>