Dear Wendy

To me, you figure, your idea doesn't seem preposterouss.  Because I remind you of Jack Kerouac.  Thank you.  Howver, I don't want to be reminded of, or feel like, or want to be Jack Kerouac.  

Jack Kerouac wrote things very well, about mad men and women and roman candles and bursts of blue and things that go pop and bump and romp in the night.  

I'm tired.  I just moved across the country three times.

Now, you want me to go back.  I've never met you!  Yet, you hold up the opportunity for me to be your "manny".  I'll give you this; "manny" is a clever word for male nanny and I wish I would have thought of it first.


a typical day: you wake up in your tent to the island summer sun and birds. you come to the door, knock, wait for the 'yeah!!!" and come in, make coffee. i whiz by, whipping things into bags and sh*t. i give you max's backpack and lunch, give max a goodbye, and my daughter too. then i go. you make some breakfast for the kids and then pack 'em up, load the car, drop one off at camp, drive to town,


drop the other off, and are free with my car for a few hours. at 3 you head back to town, pick me and the boy up, i then drive us to get the girl. then either you go somewhere or whatever. go home. throw food on the barbq. you read or do your own thing, or if i'm sociable we talk or u watch tv, or i tell u to get lost and you go find ur own sh*t


For a hundred bucks a week?  Put my life on hold for a vacation on Salt Spring Island?  You figured, of all people, I'd just jump at the chance since I'm obviously voluntarily and unhappily stable.

Well, let me tell you this much.

I'll think about it.







The End

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