When a friend called to tell me about an editing job she had just completed, she suggested I try my hand at polishing other people's work. "You'd be good at it," she said.
     Would I have to leave the house? I wondered.
     I like working at home. It's a low-key gig. No lunch to pack. No dirty microwave to share with other workers. I can eat whenever I want. My office is right next to the kitchen where the refrigerator is stocked with food guaranteed to put ideas in my head. Brain food: peanut butter and chocolate.
     I don't have to worry about household chores waiting for me at the end of a grueling day because the laundry area is right in the kitchen. I can load the washing machine and search my mind for the perfect word at the same time.
     I used to spend my days talking to people non-stop-in person and on the telephone. Often to the point that I craved a rare moment of silence. I have that silence now. Non-stop. My means of communication is email and the only noise I hear is the dog's snoring or my fingers tap-tap-tapping on the computer's keyboard.
     Once in a great while, a delivery van pulls up in front of the house. Occasionally, the phone rings. In my old life, I never saw the UPS driver. Never would have known he had a sinus infection so bad he needed two rounds of antibiotics. Just as I never would have known Ray, the telemarketer, was from Florida and we had warmer weather that day than he did.
     Best of all, every day is Casual Friday. The curling iron is in storage and panty hose are a thing of the past. I'm a writer now and writers are not fancy people. Artistes are not concerned about appearances. It's what's inside the head that counts, not whether every hair is perfectly in place.
     It's a different world from my former life as a salesperson. Thirty years ago, eager to get a real job, I applied for a position in the car business. At the time, I owned one dress, a dark blue shirtwaist with tiny red and white polka dots, bought when my husband's grandfather passed away. I had to borrow clothes from my sister to wear to the second and third interviews. When I got the news I was hired, I was excited to buy proper attire for my new career. Dress for success, was my mantra.
     I beefed up my wardrobe with three-piece suits, blouses that required careful ironing, high heels, and lots of panty hose. I even cut my hair short to look more professional.
     Now that I've left the retail world, I don't rush around every morning getting ready for the rat race. My hair, longer again, is carelessly pulled back in a pony-tail holder. Power suits have been traded in for pants with drawstring waists and comfy tee shirts a few washings away from the rag bag.
     This is where I draw the line, though. As tempting as it may be, there will be no lap-top in my house. I know for a fact, if I didn't have to walk to the computer in the den every morning, it would be bunny slippers and jammies for me all day. Every day.