Like many men at some point, I dream about opening a bar. I plan to call it Work Out. It will cater to married women in need of a little fun. On Friday nights, they will be able to come here and enjoy themselves. See, I have a gift for business. I am, as my wife Zsa Zsa likes to note, "A man with a million ideas, none of them very good." Speaking of Zsa Zsa, she is fed up with this plain little life I've made for us----too many kids, too many chores, mind - numbing debt. The other day, she said she thought we needed a new family car. _ I said, and saw my dear Zsa Zsa age about 20 years, and become her mother right before my eyes. Yes, money is our madness. Last year, we thought we had found a little _ when I published a book about the life here in suburban America. It sold 12 copies----six of them to my mother. Four other copies went to various aunts and uncles, who used them for martini coasters  , then sold them at yard sales. The two remaining copies went to perfect strangers. (I think I owe you dinner, whoever you are. Call me, OK? We'll arrange something.) When the book didn't take off, I wrote a TV show. Then I penned a short novel based on the earlier TV idea that didn't sell. Currently, I am at work on a set of encyclopedias . In a month, I plan to sell them door - to - door. Such is the life of a writer, sending off the most personal thoughts possible to his hard drive. I am a writer, but also the breadwinner in my family. I'm at the keyboard at 6 almost every morning, hoping to tap out one idea----just one----that will take us up the hill, to the mountain, to the top. By saying "Sure. How about an 87 Lincoln?", the author  _  .
promised it to his wife was showing off their fortune thought his wife would like it was just joking