I was in the kitchen yesterday, doing something kitchen related. Most of y’all will stop right there and think…Oh, it’s a fiction story…Yeah, y’all are funny.
Anyway, the big dog ambled in and nosed my leg. “Tippet, sit,” I commanded. He and I were both extremely shocked when he obeyed, and I scrambled for a cookie to reinforce the sit command. (Let me take a moment to explain that my husband, Rick Vergot, goes through dog cookies as fast as he goes through human cookies, and there were none on the counter.) Undaunted, I lunged for an old fortune cookie that’s been in the kitchen since before our dog, Booker, died. It was still there for no other reason than I couldn’t bear to throw it away because Book loved them. That, friends, is not the point of the story. Stick with me.
I broke the cookie, rewarded Tippet for sitting, and tossed the fortune. Tossed it right in the garbage can. This was about dog training and me being the Queen of Dog Training, not about no stinkin’ fortune.
I gave myself sufficient time to revel in the mystique of my dog training mastery, poured another cup of coffee, heated it in the microwave, envisioned a time when Tippet wins a blue ribbon for sitting like a good boy…all the while, the unread fortune was taunting me from the garbage can.
If you’ve ever been taunted by an unread fortune, you know the struggle. I caved. With Jerry Seinfeld whispering in my ear, “Adjacent to refuse is refuse,” I rescued the thin slip with its words of wisdom.
“The only physician heals, nature makes well.” Are you KIDDING ME??? I dug out a fortune with a typo? That typo bothered me to my bones. And I’m still thinking about it now. Is there no quality control in the fortune cookie industry? No editors? No one to shout, “Hey! Those words are transposed! It should read–The physician only heals, nature makes well.”
For the rest of the day, I heard the faint crinkle of cellophane–fortune cookies everywhere laughing at me. The delusions didn’t stop there. I channeled the ladies of the Golden Gate Fortune Cookie Company–supposedly the last handmade fortune cookie company in existence. I saw them, in spirit form, clustered in my kitchen, shaking their heads and snickering, both at my desperation and my discontent. And, I may or may not have googled “how much does a fortune cookie writer make.” Okay, I did. I googled it and was pulled into that nebula of online particulates about fortune cookie fortunes.
One of my favorite pieces of information was under Benefits and Perks on careertrend.com, “All fortune cookie writers also enjoy the benefit of reaching thousands of people with inspiring or humorous words they write.”
Moral of the story? If this Lily Barlow series doesn’t pan out, maybe I’ll get me a side hustle as a fortune writer.