By: Ann Brown
My salad days are over.*
No, wait. That’s not what I meant. Well, my salad days are over, but that – lost and misspent youth – is a post for another time.
So, what I mean to say is that my frugal days are over. I am going to be rolling in dough.
(Note to self: Are all my expressions about food? Is that ALL I think about? Must add this to next week’s therapy agenda. Also, note to self: we are out of Wheat Thins.)
And I have The Situation to thank for my future prosperity.
Have you read the news? Do you know that Abercrombie and Fitch has offered to PAY that guy, to PAY him good money to NOT WEAR THEIR CLOTHES.
I know, right? And just like that, my future unfolds before me.
I get it that certain companies do not want their brand being marketed by people who are not good ambassadors. In fact, I wholly support it. And to that end, I would like to offer my (non) services to the following:
1. Victoria’s Secret. For two million dollars a year, I will NOT walk around Portland in an unbuttoned Oxford shirt that features a turquoise Miracle Bra underneath. In fact, I will not even wear a Miracle Bra. In fact, I will not even walk around Portland. In fact, for three million dollars I will not leave my home for a year. Other than to get the mail. And go to get my moustache removed. And even then, I will wear my Playtex 18-hour all cotton, underwire, old lady brassiere. On the outside of my blouse. Just to make it perfectly clear to everyone.
2. Spanx. It can’t be good for your business to have my fat ass walking around wearing a Spanx label. What’s it worth to you, however, is the real question. Fifty grand? Forty-five grand? I’ve got an event to go to next month so you might want to get back to me asap. Labels can be worn on the OUTSIDE of the garment, too. I’m just saying.
3. Special K cereal. I’m not what you’d call a motivating force for eating your shit. I’m thinking half a mil could persuade me to fill my shopping cart with, say, Jimmie Dean breakfast sandwiches. We can post photos on youtube. Juxtapose them with photos of Karen Carpenter filling her shopping cart with your products. I think we both know who will win.
4. The makers of Prozac.
6. My sons. Although they have been wont to say that the worse Robin and I present, the better it makes them look because they have, you know, risen above the circumstances of their births. The circumstances being that their parents are devil-may-care, live-for-today,-be-here-now, bong-toting, bee-raising, therapy-going, college-dropoutting, war-protesting, can’t-figure-out-Tevo using, incense-burning, Tai Chi practicing, ain’t-got-no-savings financial planning, ain’t-got-no-boundaries blogging hippies who live by the toilet flushing credo: if it’s brown, flush it down; if it’s yellow, leave it mellow.
Oh, and I am going to offer myself – for free – to the Tea Party. Please. Let me represent you to the public. I will give it my all. Trust me.
*salad days – youth. As in, “green”, new. As opposed to, I guess, the stir fry days, when you throw all the wilted shit in a wok after cleaning out the crisper.
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Originally published on The Seattle Lesbian
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