Saturday, August 12, 2006
Hot cha cha
I have seen it all now.
While researching markets for my writing I read an essay about a 50-something mother of two children. Her bio at the end stated she had a lucrative business writing love letters. Aha! I said, I must google. I came up with The French Rabbit love letter generator. Because I am an extremely perverse person, I decided to follow the steps, tick the boxes, choose a stationery and came up with my own love letter. The names have been changed to protect the guilty, the guilty being me at this point.
Percolating in the back of my mind is an idea, a very perverse and mischievous idea. I have three websites on hold and I get paid in a few days. I could activate one of those websites and create my own love letter writing business. I have written a few love letters in my time, not all of them residing in the dusty and cobwebbed recesses of a box being stored back in Ohio along with all my paintings, cookware, favorite and rare books and clothes that would now look like potato sacks in slimming earth tones (the TV is probably still in my brother's possession, who didn't even have the decency to carry it to the car for me when I last wrenched it from his greedy and acquisitive paws). After all, freelancing is about finding a niche and filling it with flair and words -- lots of words -- and I can finally stop writing all those fake letters to Penthouse and Oui.
Come on. You guys didn't really think a pair of hot co-eds wearing nothing but bottle caps and Band-Aids on their taut, tanned, toned and Brazilian waxed bodies would really need you to warm up their lonely nights, did you?
See? I am a lot better than you thought. Love is just the romantic flip side of those Penthouse fantasies without the sex -- yet.