The Funniest Thing I've Ever Been Called....

My friend Katy has a large and gregarious extended family, and that extended family has a compund of rustic but meticulously appointed cabins on an island in Maine. And my friend Katy was kind enough to invite two of us - the previously mentioned Chris and I - to stay with her sans children in her cottage for 4 consecutive days of New England-Style debauchery.

Which, of course, we did. And on the first night in the cabin we were introduced to that most gracious of Katy's Extended Family's many traditions, Cocktail Hour. Coming from a small family wherein all drinking was done in fiercely guarded privacy - if not abject denial - I was unfamiliar with the pleasantry of Cocktail Hour, in which all of Katy's relations and (lucky for us) friends gather on the deck of The Big House (yes, really) for drinks and conversation.

And since Chris and I were the novitiates, the conversation went something like this:

Katy's Cousin 1: So what do you two do?
Me (gesturing, cocktail in hand, to Chris): She's a farmer, I'm a writer.
[Brief conversation during which Chris explains yes, she really is a farmer. A sheep farmer.]
Katy's Cousin 1: And you're a writer?
Me, Demurely: Yep.
Katy's Cousin 2: What do you write?
Me: Anything they pay me for.
Katy's Cousin 1: You're a PROFESSIONAL writer?
Me: Yep.
Katy's Cousin 2: You MAKE A LIVING writing?
Me: Well, wait a minute, let's define "make a living..."
Katy's Cousin 1's Wife, herself a wildlife biologist, happening upon the conversation late and clearly awed by my profession: Really?
Me, trying hard to be modest: Yep.
Katy's Cousin 1's Wife: You're really a professional wrestler?

Ummmm, no. Although some days it does feel like that, as I thrash about on the floor with my cross-dressing thesarus, all to find the perfect word.

Me: OH! ha-ha! I am in fact a WRITER. Time for another cocktail.