Practice Makes Perfect

Kiss the pallino, mend the sweater; there are infinite ways to win this game.

My cardigan has a hole. This happens. But tonight, while I was practicing for All-Important Bocce League, a good friend of mine pointed this out. It wasn't awkward that he pointed out the hole. As I said, this happens. What was awkward, though, was how he pointed it out.

"Cait," he said. "There's this..."

Pause.

"What?" I was confused. Was there toilet paper on my shoe? Spinach in my teeth? Ugly married men about to hit on me?

No.

"Nevermind. I don't want to embarrass you."

Oh goodness, I thought. Even if this makes my cheeks red for days, this ought to be good.

"What what what?!?!?" I asked.

"Well," he delayed, clearly uncomfortable. "There's a hole in your sweater."

Lame.

Welcome to Economy 2.0. I have holes in my sweater. I freelance for very small sums. I network with friends. I publicize projects because they sound cool and I respect their founders, not because I will ever see a single dime from them. I rent out my couch to a guy for $150 a week. He doesn't pay. I move on.

We move on.

There are holes in our cardigans.

Natch.

I had a conversation with my dad not too long ago. I described for him the interesting start-ups to which I was giving some pro-bono non-grata PR help. He was, as usual, generally supportive but specifically discerning.

"Don't you think," he asked, "you could find something that paid you that you could actually believe in?"

Interesting theory.

And practice makes perfect?