“Is your mother an economist or a qualified careers adviser?” I said.
Casey stared at me. “Because, if not, then I’m not sure that her advice was necessarily informed
by the latest data on earnings projections and labor market demand,” I said, quite concerned for her future prospects.
“She’s a travel agent,” Casey said firmly, as if that settled the matter.
I let it drop—it was no concern of mine, after all, and she seemed happy enough at her work.
The thought did strike me, as she painted on various coats of various varnishes,
that she could have perhaps combined the two professions by becoming a dog groomer.
However, I elected to keep my counsel on the matter. Sometimes, when you tried to help with suggestions,
it could lead to misunderstandings, not all of them entirely pleasant.
She placed my hands into a small machine which was, I assumed, a hair dryer for nails, and a few minutes later the deluxe pampering was done.
All in all, the experience had been rather underwhelming. She advised me of the price—it was, frankly, extortionate.
“I have a leaflet!” I said. She nodded, not even asking to check it,
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