Dear Kitty Winn, check
I hate my job, ailment but it keeps me in mascara and Marabou mules. Sleeping under my desk has failed to score me an unemployment check, drugs and I am uncertain as to how to proceed with something so tiresome as “My Future”, were I to simply quit. What should I do?
unskilled at all things legal
Something has been dreadfully amiss in your education. Why do you not know that mascara and mules are things that men pay for?! The fiscal responsibility for your loveliness belongs to your clock punching love monkey. Must Kitty draw you a road map to his wallet? Job, indeed. The only reason for having one of those is because we look so smart in tweeds and it is occasionally good to have to rise before noon.
If work is getting you that down however, it is time to inform your mate that you will be staying at home until Fox offers you that special you have been talking of. Be prepared to offer him something in return, however- it might be as workaday as frequent fellatio, or as demanding as you getting sprogged up. Kitty Winn is not a huge fan of infant spew, teletubbies, or the handling of rubber feces-filled pants. But that is a very personal choice.
Good luck and let me just add “Gold Card”.