The Jobless Goddess

   It’s a toss-up. Do I write about the fact that if you search “jobless goddess” in Google the dairy goddess and the library goddess come way ahead of me, or do I write about the fact that my husband is incapacitated due to a broken elbow? I guess I’ll go with the broken elbow. Besides, who the hell breaks their elbow anyway? My husband of course.    It started out innocently enough. I, in my desire to lose weight and become the wrinkly, thinner woman I was meant to be, decided we should start up the morning walks again. I prodded him while he was still under the covers. “Come on, let’s do it. You know we have to do this,” I said while tugging on my really sexy yoga pants (which, by the way, never get used for yoga).    To his credit, he got up, pulled on his pajama pants and went with me. We got about a 16 th of a mile past the driveway before he landed in the gravel. I’m talking a bed of gravel. Gravel embedded in the palm of your hand. Gravel in the folds of your shirt, d

   I bought some lottery tickets today. They were $2 tickets so we all know I didn’t become a millionaire. I know. I’m 52 years old and haven’t changed a diaper in 18 years but I still get a kick out of a six pack and a fistful of scratchers.     If I had a nickel for every time I daydreamed about winning the lottery I would have been a millionaire years ago. I get to thinking about how I’d hire a cleaning lady to scrub the dried toothpaste out of the sink every Thursday. I’d probably make some coffee for her or offer her some iced tea. I’d be quite pleasant to her. I wouldn’t want her to clean while I’m not here of course. She might take off with my collection of stretched-out underwear I got from my sister 10 years ago, 3 years after she wore them.    I’d love to have a cleaning lady. And after I hire her, I’m spending some money on liposuction and some new leggings to go with my big tops. I may look around for an electrolysis provider.    Some people immediately go out and buy