Your Unemployed Daughter

photo credit: notanartist

I used to think silence might be golden, or at least enjoyable, especially in an airplane or crowded elevator.

But when you’re all by yourself in your apartment and all of your friends are afraid to come near and catch your germs—and you can’t even speak to them on the phone because, really, you can’t speak at all, except to quietly try saying “Hello” to yourself now and again to test out your voice, but despite countless mugs of Ginger Honey Throat tea you got nuthin’—well, that silence is actually not golden. I’d call it rusty tin-cannish, maybe, or cubic zirconium-infused, but not golden.

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Hi Mom and Dad,

This is Your Unemployed Daughter. Um, I have some news. [[Pauses, waits for pickup.]]

Okay, by the fact that you’re not answering, I assume you’re off bike riding or kayaking or sitting on somebody’s lanai sipping martinis (or, if that’s you listening, Dad, red wine). It IS 6 p.m. Well, don’t let me disturb you! I bet the weather is great in Florida. I just wanted to let you know, um … I’ve been fired.

[[In background: a shriek, muffled voices, glasses meeting in a toast]]

Oh, yeah, so I’m at the bar right now. [[Gulps]] Sorry, tequila shots!

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