My IRA

I've been sitting around thinking of ways that I can use the two of you to make money. When you're as successful as I am this is what passes for retirement planning. I always imagined I'd be bathing in money at this point despite the fact that I don't really have many discernible skills and don't care for bathing. But it's starting to dawn on me that if I want to wash my hair with hundred dollar bills, I'm probably going to have to find a way to wring them out of you two.

My bullet proof backup plan has always been to raise an NFL punter. High paying work, minimal danger, and lots of time off. Many parents try to push the athlete angle, but they always aim for the glory positions, raising quarterbacks and baseball pitchers. Me, I figured we'd aim low, specialize early, go all Tiger Woods and have you punting before you could walk. Then when you cashed that first NFL check you'd just be dying to buy a ski chalet for the man who taught you about the coffin corner. I was running this by your mom and she pointed out two problems. One you're girls, and two, the only thing I actually know about punting is the phrase 'coffin corner'.

So the question now is how can I best live vicariously through twin girls. Sports are a surprisingly dead end for women. Remember, this is not about whether of not you're fulfilled, it's about my ski chalet, and with the exception of women's tennis, women still get the shaft when it comes to getting paid for kicking and hitting round things. We could go the tennis route, but some of those juniors academies are right up there with the beauty pageant circuit for freakshow content. Also, when I played tennis I had a tendency to hit the ball over the back fence. All the time. Ten bucks says you both get that gene.

So if sports are out, where are the other big pay days for girls? Modeling? I think my genes will torpedo that too, not to mention that while I really want that chalet, it's hard for me to push you toward anything that might bring you within a thousand miles of Tyra Banks. Being a human clothes hanger just seems like such an empty and meaningless existence. Unlike repeatedly kicking a small leather ball toward the corners (the coffin ones) of a green rectangle.

Acting? Such a tough nut to crack. And getting an early start doesn't necessarily mean you end up with a sustainable career. You could end up Mccauley Caulkin, out of work by 25 and spending all my chalet money working through your memories of weekends at Michael Jackson's with a thousand dollar an hour therapist. That's not good for any of us.

So, I've decided to make you Hedge Fund Managers. Granted, I know less about hedge funds than I do about punting and my math skills break down at 6x7, but you could make up for my lifetime of failure and financial mismanagement with one 200 million dollar Christmas bonus. So when those big checks come, just remember that while everyone else was putting you in pink, it was me who hooked you up with the derivatives and bond market primers. All I ask in return is that you move me to a mountain with a lift right outside my front door.

Also, I'll probably need a couple new knees.

Novel - doing another script draft
Dunking - Program 2, week 3
French - Nous sommes riche!