So you know how I just wrote that my brother-in-law said that “men aren’t meant to be stay-at-home moms?” Well, today Larry—that’s his name, Larry—called me to say that he met someone on a plane and that after chatting the guy up, the guy said he’d hire Chuck. All Chuck has to do is send him an email.
Uh huh.
Sit back and relax as we listen in on the conversation with the plane dude, as retold by Mrs. Mullet:
Larry: “So you work in Massachusetts? That’s kind of near this place called Mulletville, right?”
Guy: “No, it’s not even close.”
Larry: “And you work for a communications company?”
Guy: “Not really.”
Larry: “That’s great. Cause I’m related to this guy Chuck. I see him at family functions a few times a year. The guy can really drink. Do you think you could hire him? Cause right now he’s a pussy stay-at-home dad and I’m worried that the next time I see him, his caring and generous nature will make me feel so small and insecure that I’ll need to call his wife and tell her that real men aren’t meant to be stay-at-home moms.”
Guy: “I see.”
Larry: “The fact that I heard him humming a Dan Fogelberg song once only confirms my darkest fears that he is sensitive. I don’t even like music, that’s how manly I am. So do you have a job for him?”
Guy: “No.”
Larry: “And your email is rick@staples.com?”
Guy: “Whatever you want. Just leave me alone.”
Larry: “Great, he’ll be in touch.”
One final note: I would never, ever move to Massachusetts. It is home to the worst drivers in the world, and if you think I am kidding, the next time someone cuts you off take a gander at his license plate (that's right: his. Men cut people off; women tailgate. It's practically law).
I'm so certain of this that if the traffic offender is not from Assachusetts, send me an email and I’ll give you $10,000,000.*
* In Monopoly money. Hello, my husband is unemployed. Did you not just read this post?
