Tried and testes

Almost 20 years ago, when my husband and I were on our honeymoon in Portugal, we found a magazine printed in English, but put out by Portuguese speakers. Our favorite typo was when something that was being praised (a restaurant? a local sight?) was described as being "tried and testes."

In the last several hours, I have entertained myself by taking several career "testes." I don't know what I was expecting or hoping. I guess I had this fantasy that something would reveal itself to be a career I had never considered, but which would be identified as being just the thing for me. Maybe it would turn out that I belonged in Cirque de Soleil (which, given my lack of coordination and fear of being on a stage, would be quite a surprise, indeed) or doing voice over work for children's television. Or maybe my results would indicate a predilection for working for Homeland Security or being a plumber.

But no.

Except for one somewhat bizarre set of results that suggested dental hygienics (I am, actually, deathly afraid of dentists) along with rabbi, chaplain, minister or preacher (right up there with my fear of dentists is my distrust of organized religion), it turns out I've been looking for jobs in all the right places: working with kids, being a teacher, being a social worker/counselor/therapist, being a writer or editor. Nothing particularly glamorous or sexy or death-defying or likely to be turned into a hit TV series. (I remember, years ago, some network attempted to make a TV show about a social worker--maybe with Mary Stuart Masterson?-- and it sucked, just out-and-out sucked. I was so pissed.)

It's okay, actually. I'm not all that surprised. I thought maybe, now that I'm middle-aged and have kids, that it would turn out there's some secret part of me, just waiting to jump out, to be set free. But, for now, anyway, it's just the same old me.