What I learned from Elvis
I handed out one hundred brochures today, walked six miles, handing out sixty samples of fragrance, fourty samples of skin care and thirty mini-lipsticks. I collected one thousand dollars in Avon orders.
Actually I didn't do any of that. I didn't do any Avon at all. I sat around the house for three hours this morning, staring at my busy bird parrot, letting the kids run naked through the sprinkler, wearing nothing all day but pink pajamas with a supergirl logo printed across the butt, bed head hair and a bit fat PMS zit on my chin. Make that two PMS zits. I ate a mixing bowl full of corn chips with salsa for dinner and fed my kids peanut butter and banana sandwiches and Little Debbie lemon cakes and milk. And when I snuck out to check the mail, I saw the rusty blue Escort the old cleaning lady parks in front of the grumpy man's house, and I ran back inside and grabbed two stuffed handfulls of Avon samples and dropped them into her backseat when no one was looking. Anyone who cleans for that anal bastard deserves an August surprise.
Tomorrow is another day! I said this last night too, and meant it. I mean it now. Such a beautiful day, really, corn chips and pajamas and the sight of little naked bodies slipping on the wet grass. Here's what I'm saying to myself, my special secret mantra tonight: Remember that, Birdie, remember that. You don't have to be anybody. You don't have to do anything. It's OK to be bloated and breaking out and have bad hair and chipped toe nail polish and no money. It's OK to be the crappiest Avon Lady in the world. You're cool anyway, because you have pink pajamas and a smart bird and healthy crazy gumball Elvis food kids. This is the special secret to life, Birdie.
9:04:37 PM 
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