Today was my retirement luncheon. I guess it’s official. I have retired. I am freed from the cubicle farm. Retired. It sounds so final. Okay, I’m not really old enough to retire. But since I don’t plan on getting another job just yet, the word ‘retirement’ will suffice. Besides, my husband retired in July — we worked together (but that’s another story). I was lost there without him. Okay, maybe not lost so much as jealous of his new jam-packed schedule of drinking coffee and taking the dog outside.
So here I sit wondering what I will do in this next chapter of my life. Oh yeah, there is that novel I’ve been working on. There’s always that tricky world peace issue — I could help with that. Perhaps Charles Gibson needs a co-anchor. I’m available. I heard Fred Thompson was looking for help with his campaign — he’s no doubt left me a voicemail. Note to self: check for messages. The offers in my email box are piling up so quickly. Hillary — I just don’t have time to be your personal shopper; but I understand Kohl’s has a new line of Vera Wang. And Mr. Copperfield — someone smarter than I will have to pull a rabbit out of their hat to get you out of that mess you’re in. While I weigh my options, there is a couch with my name on it — and a dog who’s waiting to share her Frisbee with me. Retirement — yeah, I could get used to this.
Crone and Bear It 
Never. Not with your talent. Sorry.