Poop is Still Poop

March 5, 2015

It's a good thing I was never a Girl Scout because I would have been expected to sell Girl Scout cookies. I don't care if your pockets are stuffed with dollar bills and you haven't eaten in a week: you ain't gonna buy Thin Mints from me. I'm just not a good salesperson. Plain, pure and simple. 

 

As luck would have it, I'm married to an excellent salesperson. He could sell ice to Eskimos and make them believe they got one hell of a deal. He tried to sell me on the idea that I could have a sales career and, of course, I bought it hook, line and sinker. Granted, I was extremely young and dumb as a rock at the time. He had me convinced that I would be a millionaire in no time by selling radio advertising. Not only did I not become a millionaire: I actually lost money. I would go into a boot shop to sell them advertising, and I would walk out with a $150 pair of boots but no advertising contract.

 

It didn't take me long to figure out that being in sales wasn't for me. So, what did I do? Naturally, I got into marketing and public relations. Bahahahahaha. It's still sales, but it's just not labeled as sales. Kind of like poop is still poop even if you label it fertilizer. I had found my calling. I could spread fertilizer like there was no tomorrow, and I did it for decades. 

 

I don't do it anymore except through this blog. I started this blog/website about a month ago, and a curious thing has happened. I've been inundated with salespeople trying to convince me to use my website to make money. I could make

thousands a day if I would just pay them to tell me how to do it. I can't get anyone to understand that I don't want to make thousands a day. I just want to have fun. What's wrong with that?

 

It's like a disease. The disease of excess. I can't just write silly, little stories ... I need to be J.K. Rowling. I can't cook a basic meal ... I have to be Julia Child. I can't own a couple of duplexes ... I need to be Donald Trump. I can't take a basic cell phone picture ... I need to be Annie Lebovitz. I can't make a simple wreath for the front door ... I need to be Martha Stewart. To hell with that. I just want to be myself. Plain, pure and simple. It's a good thing. 

 

 

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