You do what?
Monday, April 14th, 2008
I discovered the strangest occupation yesterday. We were driving along, minding our own business, when I noticed the license plate holder of the car in front of us. It said “Basket Consultant”.
What exactly IS a basket consultant? Is it like a sidewalk therapist? Or is it more like a sofa whisperer? How does one consult baskets? Are there a lot of baskets in need of consulting? Do the baskets pay well or do you work for weaving lessons?
Who NEEDS basket consulting?
“Hmm… should I get the red and green basket on clearance for a buck or the white one that’s not on sale?”
Simple. Buy the cheap one. If your life is teetering on this decision, you need a 12-step program.
“But.. what should go IN the basket?”
Anything you want. It’s a BASKET. Filling it with dirty towels isn’t going to hurt its feelings. If you toss it in the back of the closet (like I do), it’s not going to plot revenge on the next four generations of your family.
“This part here. Yeah, that there’s called the ‘handle’. You pick it up there. And that part there, that’s the real meat of the basket. That’s where you put yer stuff.”
“But what stuff do I put there? How do I know if my basket will be happy with my choices?”
“Well, in that part there, you can put anythin’ you want. You can fill er with candy or nicknacks or them there fancy little bathroom soaps, you know, them ones that looks like flowers or seashells or little puppy dogs. I sure love a perdy basket full of them fancy little soaps.”
Seriously, when was the last time you heard this conversation?
“What do you want to be when you grow up, Susie?”
“I wanna be a BASKET CONSULTANT!”
Yeah… didn’t think you had. It has never happened. Now if you’ll excuse me, somewhere around here I have some chocolate that kind of resembles fancy little bathroom soaps…..
Find your new basket at Humor-Blogs.com.
Squeak - Me, better known as "Mommy!" I'm a bitter, jaded, smartass of a single mom trying to raise happy, healthy, well- adjusted children while dealing with the aftermath of my 30th birthday. My mild-mannered alter ego is a professional web developer and graphic designer.
Og the Neanderthal - Formerly, my opposing gender cohabitant. He firmly believes he is the reincarnation of John Wayne and is seeking a partner who is the illegitimate love child of June Cleaver and Murphy Brown. I am not that woman.
Roo - My seven-year-old daughter. She loves to sing, but sounds like Bob Dylan... if he were deaf, drunk and singing falsetto. She was nicknamed "Motor Mouth" by a daycare full of preschoolers.
JellyBean/JB - My five- year-old daughter. She longs to be a ballerina princess in her adult life. She knows Grammy will give her anything her little heart desires. And she insists on being addressed as "Your Majesty" .
Doofhead - The father of my munchkins. In the words of Faith Hill, "When it comes to brains, he got the short end of the stick."
BD - Chief Executive Officer. Non-techie. Hyperactive. Has the charisma of a used car salesman.
BC - Chief Technical Officer. Obsessed with weekly task meetings. Wants desperately to be macho.
Bull - Resident computer technician. High on life. Enjoys crude humor and ebonics. Collects soda cans as a second source of income.
Batman - Fellow code monkey. Lurks in dark places. Knows teh haxx0rz. Has an aversion to bouffant hairstyles and public radio.
Walnuts - Sales God. Underpaid & overstressed. Works multiple jobs. Is the younger brother of BD & BC.
The Girl - Stool-perching poster child for perkiness. Office catch-all and snack food enthusiast.
