As an over-educated, underemployed aspiring writer, I worry about my impending old age and subsequent retirement. At this point, I honestly think I'm going to have to work until I'm 126. I've come up with a pretty ambitious plan for getting comfortable, and going off to live in my villa in Italy, or maybe on my private island in the Caribbean.
It started when I was pregnant with my son. I thought, "Great! He'll be a lefty. He'll be a pitcher. He'll turn pro after a brilliant college baseball career on full athletic scholarship. He'll be set, and so, subsequently, will be his mother. Season tickets for life." Of course, the best laid plans go awry. My son, who is a great kid, has absolutely no interest in baseball, and never has. None. Zippo. Nada. Zilch.
I had to come up with a new retirement contingency plan, once it became clear that it wasn't going to happen the way I had so carefully planned.
This morning while perusing the best of internet sports news, I saw an embarassing article about "Baseball Babes," and it hit me. I have a daughter, too. I can turn her into a baseball bimbo, she can marry a ball player, and she'll be set. And, so, will her mother. Season tickets for life.
My daughter is a talented artist. However, she's serious, introverted, and totally focused on her work. This doesn't bode well for turning her into a bimbo. There's a little too much grey matter, and not enough fluff. She's pretty, and she's carefully blonde, but otherwise, there's nothing bimbo about her. I discussed it with her, and she just shook her head at me. "You know, Mom," she said, "there's a lot of work to do here, to make that happen." I pointed out to her that if she married a professional ball player, she could basically spend her days painting, and never have to worry about earning a living. "I'm down with that," she said. We laughed all the way to the gym.
Can't be a bimbo without weight training.
Lottery tickets. My new retirement plan includes lots of lottery tickets.
It started when I was pregnant with my son. I thought, "Great! He'll be a lefty. He'll be a pitcher. He'll turn pro after a brilliant college baseball career on full athletic scholarship. He'll be set, and so, subsequently, will be his mother. Season tickets for life." Of course, the best laid plans go awry. My son, who is a great kid, has absolutely no interest in baseball, and never has. None. Zippo. Nada. Zilch.
I had to come up with a new retirement contingency plan, once it became clear that it wasn't going to happen the way I had so carefully planned.
This morning while perusing the best of internet sports news, I saw an embarassing article about "Baseball Babes," and it hit me. I have a daughter, too. I can turn her into a baseball bimbo, she can marry a ball player, and she'll be set. And, so, will her mother. Season tickets for life.
My daughter is a talented artist. However, she's serious, introverted, and totally focused on her work. This doesn't bode well for turning her into a bimbo. There's a little too much grey matter, and not enough fluff. She's pretty, and she's carefully blonde, but otherwise, there's nothing bimbo about her. I discussed it with her, and she just shook her head at me. "You know, Mom," she said, "there's a lot of work to do here, to make that happen." I pointed out to her that if she married a professional ball player, she could basically spend her days painting, and never have to worry about earning a living. "I'm down with that," she said. We laughed all the way to the gym.
Can't be a bimbo without weight training.
Lottery tickets. My new retirement plan includes lots of lottery tickets.
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