As Presidents’ Day rolls around, the Lisas would like to claim a deep, selfless appreciation for the leaders of our country. If we could focus on the noble memories of the Father of our Country and Honest Abe instead of their respective currency and coinage, we would.
The Lisas are hungry, not only for bread pudding and nachos con queso, but for bread of the mucho dinero variety. We write because it’s a low-calorie, low risk, low aerobic activity, but we don’t want it to be a hobby. We fully desire to be paid for providing quality entertainment to the reading public. We’d like to be paid obscene amounts, but we’ll settle for working out way up the pay scale ladder.
Call us greedy, call us dreamers, just please don’t call us unpublished. All we want for Presidents’ Day is a book contract. We’ve been particularly good girls this year, Mr. Taft! We’ll be checking the mail for that book deal, Mr. Jackson. …What’s that? No mail on Presidents’ Day? Did we mention we how much we hate federal holidays?