WHAT'S IN YOUR WALLET?

My Match inbox has cobwebs and dust in it. And tumbleweeds blowing across it. Cactus. Cow skulls. Dust storms. Not a soul in weeks.

 

 

My 5 year old daughter must have overheard me talking to my best pal in Texas, who (whom) I am trying to hire up here for a construction job I have my hands in, and she repeated this to her older sister (15) on the phone on Father's Day:

 

"Daddy is sad, and lonely, and grumpy! And it's because he doesn't have a girlfriend! Oh, and guess what! He has ANTLERS TOO! But they're INVISIBLE ANTLERS! 'Cuz I can't see 'em!"

 

Oh bloody hell, I'm thinking, I was speaking in code for "horny."

 

"Daddy, Marla wants to talk to you."

 

"Dad!" she says, two syllables, all accusations.

 

I know, I know, but it's all true.

 

"You better hope she doesn't relay that to Patti!" she chortles. Patti's the 5 year old's mom. Looks like you. You know, Cleopatra type.

 

Yeah, I say. By this time, fortunately, the attorneys she has on speed dial just roll their eyes and say, tell her to take a message.

 

Anyway, that's life at present.

 

What's in your wallet? Mine has viagra and condoms -- that's how I know I'm an optimist!