I pounced on that and told them proudly that I was a freelance writer. The usual raising of eyebrows and looks of interest made me feel like I was the house cat that had been dyed pink to make a conversation piece.
After answering the questions that flow from the status of being a freelance writer; “What do you write about?”; “Where is your work published?”; “How did you get started?”; I overheard amidst the hubbub some cynic mutter “Freelance writer is another way of saying unemployed…chuckle, chuckle, chuckle.”
I didn’t spot the offender though I had my suspicions and concentrated on chatting to my suspect’s girlfriend and making her laugh so hard she was going to wet her knickers (my preferred form of seduction). Nothing like arousing the green-eyed jealousy monster to extract a measure of revenge and a point not lost on my host with whom I had a good chuckle about it all after the event.
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