It’s all JD’s fault. He said I should reward myself for completing my manuscript. You know I hate that word, it sounds so arty-farty and snobby. It’s something Thurston Howell the III would say with his jaw-jutting Yacht club intonation. “Lovey, have you seen my manuscript?” Anyhow, I waffle…back to the reward.
It’s a simple thing really. In fact, I had ONE hidden in a Tupperwear container in the wardrobe. It was left over from the Christmas stash JJ sent me. The problem is there was merely one. I consumed it and now. It is gone and it was not enough. I cannot get more unless I pay $86 for shipping. Yes, $86 for shipping a 2 pound box of snack treats directly from good ol’ Pennsylvania .
You see, I’m very basic when it comes to a reward. Like the Budman, I’ll perform for food. I’m happy with food. Freud (and Shinky-dink) would be so proud.
In lieu of an instant publishing contract, I want a $2.79 box of pretzels available at most supermarkets and convenience stores in the USA.
Really. They’d take off here. Supermarkets would make a fortune on these fat-free beauties. They’re really baked, not fried. There’s no oil in that at all. They’re 100 calories a big fat crucnhy treat! I’ve never met anyone who doesn’t like them.
Later, like in 2 weeks, when I get that publishing contract, I’m gonna ship these babies in. Yessireebetty, I’ll take my 8% royalty cut, which, after the agent takes a bit and the publisher gets the big dividend, should be just about $86, and blow it all on Sourdough pretzels!
Hmm… maybe I better get to whilting down the word count of A Basic Renovation and start sending out my query letters…
Meanwhile, I have no shame to admit I licked my fingers and picked up all the pulverised pretzel crumbs in the bottom of the Tupperwear container.