I Spy With Mine Own Eye

I kind of wish we had a bigger yard. For lots of reasons, not the least of which being that if we had a bigger yard, I think I could really be a spy. I guess that's the sort of sacrifice you make when you live in a pretty beautiful place where the only reasonably affordable houses are on .1 acre.

Anway, in the event that we ever move up the real estate food chain, I would like a nice big back yard where I can practice my spy rolls. As it is, I've got to practice them in the living room. Sometimes I hit my head on the coffee table or land on a cat, and with obstacles such as that, I'm never going to get good at them.

I mean, I know that when I'm a real spy, I'm going to have obstacles in the way. For example, when I leap from the rooftop of one building to another, deftly avoiding the flock of pigeons flying by, I'll need to make sure I spy roll around the big metal vent thingy that the bad guys always hide behind, but right now it's all about technique. I need to get my technique down before I go challenging myself with obstacles, you know?

I think that being a spy is, like, the sexiest job EVER! Except, when you go to cocktail parties and shit, it's not like you can say, "Oh, I'm a spy," when someone asks you what you do for a living. That would kind of suck. The whole point of being a spy is that it's a secret.

Maybe being a spy wouldn't be such a glamorous job after all. But fuck it. I just want to wear the sexy leather uniform spy chicks always have on. In which case, I'll need a boob job, too.

A boob job and a bigger yard. Le sigh. I have big dreams, you guys.