The Time my Unemployed Brother-in-Law Called Me a Prostitute
“He said you’re a prostitute,” my mom complained irritably.
“He’s up to this again? Why?”
“Because he doesn’t think you could possibly earn a living as a business owner.”
“But he said that when I had a 9–5 job too,” I reminded. My brother-in-law, or as I affectionately called him, ‘Satan’ had been a thorn in our side ever since my gullible sister had fallen for his utter lack of charm or decency. Not only did he get arrested twice for getting into bar fights and get sentenced to anger management, but he also wore crocs.[1] I disliked him so much, I even tried the infamous freezing banishing spell. I wrote his name, put it inside a mirror compact, and stuck it in the freezer. Unfortunately, it was as effective as natural deodorant.
“He’s an idiot,” mom replied.
“Hmmm,” I mused, as I quickly Googled prostitute salary. “The average salary for a prostitute is $27,000 in NYC. And I clearly make more than that. So either I’m really busy or really good. Or is he saying I am a high-priced escort?”
“Just ignore him,” my mom replied, clearly unamused.
“Seriously though, Jesus welcomed prostitutes into his crew. So I should be welcome at Christmas. I don’t see what the problem is.”
“He’s jealous because he could never start his own company,” my mom replied.
Those were facts. Satan had been carrying around a binder for years, supposedly detailing how he was going to open a brewery. He convinced my sister to pack up their belongings and move to Portland for the express purpose of opening one. Now if you ask me, that’s like moving to New York City to open a pizzeria when you have next to no experience with pizza, cooking, or even having a job. But I digress. Despite moving to Portland, Satan avoided opening any sort of brewery (or even a food truck for that matter) instead of focusing on Alex Jones's conspiracy theories.
“You know what’s funny mom? He’s the only one having sex for money. Since he doesn’t work and all. He’s dependent on my sister for money. Either that or he’s a socialist since he’s reaps the benefits of being in a civil society without paying taxes,” I typed back with a cackle. As an avid Trump supporter, he hated socialism even if he had no clue what that meant.
“God, don’t remind me,” mom wrote back with disgust.
“Well, I’ll tell you one thing,” I responded.
“What’s that?”
“If I were a prostitute, at least I’d have a job!” I texted with glee.
[1] And not the kind that are trending now, though I find those quite hideous too.
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