Why Would I Need a Job?

It turns out that you have to note your occupation on your landmine adoption application. Apparently, landmines need the sort of support that only an employed parent can offer. I didn’t know what to write. First, I wrote in “Sexy Mermaid,” but then I scribbled that out, because that’s more of a birth abnormality than a job. Then I wrote in “Opium-Addled Flapper,” but I scribbled that out, too, because that job seems to drain my coffers rather that fill them. Finally, I wrote in “Mysterious Stevedore.” I’m not actually a stevedore, which is why I qualified it with the word “mysterious.” I’m hoping that the landmine orphanage will fail to check my references thoroughly. But ooooooooh! I really want a landmine to call my own! I’ve already cleared a space for it in the backyard. I don’t know if it will be a boy or a girl, so I’ve decorated the dirt crib in pastel yellows and greens.