Bachelor Billioniares...They're Selling like Hotcakes!

 I belong to a cheap bookbuying club that discounts all kinds of books. It lets you pick from a few different genres, and every day you have the option of selecting anywhere from 5 to 7 options. I've found some excellent reads there. But if you've even hinted that you can handle a romance novel, you will automatically receive every Billionaire Boyfriend book on the list. 

The titles are hilarious. The latest is called Her Bachelor Cowboy Billionaire, about a young woman and an old guy. Guess which one is rich? The thing that gets me is, who'd want a billionaire, anyway? I mean, sure, Warren Buffett is giving away most of his money before he dies. I'd love to have a conversation with him about that. But the rest of them? How ruthless do you have to be to end up a billionaire? Most of them start out with wealthy parents, like Elon Musk. But there must be a few self made ones out there, stepping on more than a few necks to propel themselves upward on their journey to extreme wealth. 

Currently, there are 3, 381 billionairs dashing around the planet in their private jets, or preparing themselves for their journey to Mars. If you had a billion invested at 8% interest, you'd make thirty million a year. And yet, what are these people doing with their money? 

Happily there's another good one, Yvon Chouinard, who founded the Patagonia company 52 years ago, is giving all 3 billion to a special trust and creating a foundation to help combat climate change and protect nature. Now, that's a guy to fall in love with. 

Please, Bookbub, no more billionaire love stories. You're making me throw up in my mouth. Now, a down-on-his-luck cowboy who just gave his last dollar to a food bank? That guy's dateable. Signing off, this is Judith, leaning just a little more to the left. 

Someone Call the fire Department

 A few strange things have happened over the last few weeks. First, the top of my deodorant stick broke off. I was heading out on a trip and I hate wasting money so I found a tiny plastic bag I'd saved from Baba's Bulk Bin, and shoved the piece in there. I am nothing if not inventive. And cheap. 

The strange part happened when I was getting changed. I lifted my arms up and noticed flecks of green in my pits. 'Am I growing mold in secret places?' I wondered. But as a pleasant, delicate odour wafted past I remembered my store purchase. The bag had been used to hold parsley, and it was covering the deodorant with the ferocity of sparkle dust. Naturally, I used the rest of the stick until it was gone. After all, the parsley was doing me no harm.

The next strange thing happened yesterday. I was  recently in Calgary, but since I hate shopping, I came home without the sports bra I desperately needed. I'm trying to up my activity level, and that kind of jumping around requires a stern undergarment with a bossy edge. I went to our local Red Apple store, which sells everything from groceries (they have the faint look of having been stored in an underground bunker) and plenty of other goods with tiny issues. Like beautiful sheets with an unsewn seam or an elegant jacket marked large when it's actually size small. It's fun going in there...its kind of like a treasure hunt. 

I found a beautiful black and gray racerback bra and brought it home to try on. It fit me perfectly and like a courteous escort, it said nothing but gave plenty of silent support. I promptly turned on YouTube and did a vigorus zumba workout. Then I bundled up for a walk and after returning home, got ready to settle in for the night. 

Now, I'd never worn this kind of garment before and it hadn't occured to me that it would be difficult to remove. In fact, it was impossible. During my desperate struggle, I began to understand the fear of a baby hippo trying to escape from the mouth of a crocodile. The elastic might have been made by Nasa, perhaps to fasten an escape hatch onto the mother ship. I wrestled harder, but made no progress at all. And then I thought, oh, no. I might have to call the fire department! They're the ones who rescue you when you're locked in a stuck elevator. And I was having my own locked-in moment. 

My neighbor Linda was away, and her husband Gerry and I are friends, but we don't have that kind of relationship. I thought about getting scissors and cutting the thing off me. But that seemed ridiculous. Besides, I'm a tad uncoordinated and could end up slicing myself instead. This was underwear and it was meant to be removed. 

I picked up my phone and googled 'how to remove a racingback sports bra.' Every answer started with, 'loosen the straps.' But there was nothing to loosen. My aha! moment arrived. This is why it was only $9.00! It was well made (too well made, really) but nobody had thought to install a zipper or clasp of any kind. 

Finally, through sheer desperation and with only the tearing of a few stitches, I got the thing off. Then I had to lie down on the bed and recover, since I felt like I'd just taken part in an Olympic wrestling event way above my weight level. 

Am I going to wear it again? You're darn tootin' I am. But first, the two of us will have a chat. There might be some amendments made to the thing. Because, really, the fire Department has more important things to do. But I'll have a friend on standby, just in case.