An Open Letter to the Man who Created the Need for me to Fabricate a Death in my Family:

Dear Chester (not his real name),

I’m writing with a suggestion, and let me say straight-away; It is not my place to judge you. I don’t feel that I am the authority that should tell you whether it is right or wrong to obsessively post pictures of your naughty bits on casual encounter websites. I’m not going to weigh in on the astonishing level of interest you appear to have in the “private time” of Fred and Wilma Flintstone, or your extensive collection of images devoted to said interest. Furthermore, I am positive that there is a certain caliber of person who would really appreciate the wit of your Linda Lovelace-themed t-shirt collection. My only suggestion is this: consider selecting a dedicated email address for online activities devoted to these special interests.

Follow my line of reasoning for a moment. You and I exchange email addresses. You purport to need help with your bookkeeping. I am happy to help with your bookkeeping for a reasonable fee. You ask if I’m willing to begin the project at your home. I’ve got a Taser, I’ve watched a fair amount of Kung Fu in my day and I charge more for working on site, so I’m willing to at least research you and consider starting the project at your place. Here’s where we run into a significant problem: I Googled your email address, and easily found multiple pictures of your junk, and your extensive collection of Flintstone porn. As I poured rubbing alcohol over my poor, scarred retinas, I contemplated the wisdom of agreeing to poke through your financial records in the comfort of your house (which has some furniture which I would now have to refuse to sit on) and it became clear to me: It would be unwise to take you on as a client and I must now fabricate a death in my family.

Chester, I consider myself to be a fairly bold person, but I cannot bring myself to send you an email giving you the real reason that I’m not going to help with your accounting project. What could I say?

“Dear Chester, you’ve carefully documented many of the activities to which you devote your computer desk and there is no amount of money that could ever induce me to sit in that chair.

Yabba Dabba Do,

Laura Lowery”

So here’s the deal Chester, I am going to lie. I’m going to invent a family member, and they are going to die: today. I am going to be so overcome with grief, that I will be unable to accept any new clients at this time.

Best of luck to you, Chester. Overall, I’m actually glad that you used the email address that you did for our correspondence. It would have taken me a while to figure out why I thought it was so creepy that you always had the Flintstones cartoon on in the background every time I was at your house.

Most Sincerely,

Laura Lowery

I sent the following email to “Chester” at 8:34 PM this evening:

“Hi C***,

 I’m sorry to say that my Grandfather has just passed away and it turns out that I will be unable to take on any new clients at this time. My apologies for the inconvenience.

 Best Regards,

Laura Lowery”