Everyone assumes all writers are wealthy. Sure, Ernest Hemingway made big bucks, but he also had 6 ex-wives, so they got most of his royalty checks. I bet Stephen King is real rich, but he’s so scary looking, he probably doesn’t’ have many friends. And Dave Barry must be struggling because he supplements his income by being in a band. We all know musicians make even less than writers.

No, dear reader, 99.9% of writers are flat broke.

We’re all running around with novels inside us that are either written and searching for the perfect publisher or half written and driving us slowly insane. Plus the older writing crowd is confused because nobody’s figured out e-books yet.

So this lowly humorist called her Very Best Friend to discuss her finances. VBF’s sage advice was this. “Simple. Go out and get a job.”

Now you must understand that this post-menopausal princess hasn’t worked for anyone but herself since 1990. That’s the year I started my marketing and design firm. Sure plenty of people worked for me, but the only person I had to answer to was the CPA. Granted, Dearly Demented Mom was my boss for the last seven years, but she was a pushover.

After hearing VBF’s advice, I girded my loins and headed to the classifieds. If I could weld or drive an 18-wheeler, I would be gainfully employed pronto. The rest of the options were bleak.

Since I’ve had plenty of experience in caregiving, I opted for a job helping the elderly. I was hired immediately and sent to the closest bargain store to buy myself some “scrubs.”

Why do they have such a name? Because the stiff fabric slowly scrubs your skin away. I bought two outfits even though I looked like the hearts and bubble bees version of the Michelin Man.

The next day I headed to my job wearing scrubs and my best pair of flip-flops. The first words I heard from the boss were, “No toes! No toes!” Evidently, the sight of a couple of bunions could scare an old lady to death. I was required to wear tennis shoes. This shorts and sandals gal was not happy.

I worked at the job for one week. I took a nice elderly woman to the doctor and I packed up an aging woman’s apartment so she could move across the street to an assisted living facility. The only other work they had was a shift from 7 pm to 7 am but this old gal isn’t allowed to be out after 10 o’clock at night.

Hope was on the horizon. The next job I found is working at a garden nursery and you know what a gardener I am. Plus I can wear shorts and open toed shoes while I water over 10,000 plants a day.

I love my new job because plants don’t boss you around. Sure there’s the occasional crazy agarita bush whose thorns attack, but it’s a beautiful spot with birds singing and butterflies flying.

I’ve always said my hair is so thick, it’s like wearing a ski mask all summer, meaning heat can really get to me. I’m trying to build up my un-air conditioned strength, but at this point I start fading around 3 pm. By 4p pm I’m so wilted, I feel like May West on a bad date wearing 4 inch stilettos that are a size too small.

Today I’m soaking my feet and hiding in the air conditioning. And I’m very thankful that my new found career gives me more to write about. Still, time to go research e-books now.

Spreading laughter throughout the world…one chuckle at a time.

Mikie Baker
www.mikiebaker.com