I told mom I was considering an MFA in creative writing. It had to happen (I had to tell her), and it came up when she asked me if I was going to refinance. Her reaction was better than I thought it would be. At first.
Mom: What? What made you even think about that?
A.: You can thank your Tea Party buddies. I had to wonder about my job security--
Mom: They're absolutely right. Too many do-nothing, overstuffed bureaucrats out there.
A.: Like me?
Mom: Well, no, but...
A.: Anyway, I had to think about what else I might do. And the MFA came to mind.
Mom: How are you going to support yourself?
A.: That's an excellent question.
Mom: Writers don't get paid well.
A.: I know that, mom.
Mom: You could get married.
A.: Huh?
Mom: That's what Lyena did. She hated her job, so she quit to go study from the best voice teachers.
I would have made a snide comment about how I didn't have any millionaire gentlemen callers lined up, but then mom would have reminded me that she did.
A.: Yeah, not really interested in the 'kept' thing. [Not that that's what Lyena's doing.] Look, I am well aware of the financial implications. I don't need your help to keep those in mind.
A few minutes elapsed.
Mom: Look at that bookshelf. Look at all that literature. Now, think about those writers. You think any of them have an MFA? The writing just flowed out of them.
Have we mentioned that mom doesn't write?
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