Lady Liberty does the Jitterbug

I appear to have run out of self-respect. Today, My husband and I applied for marketing positions with Liberty Tax Services. "What's wrong with that?" you may or may not disinterestedly inquire. I'll tell you. If hired, I'll be donning a sea foam gown and spiked tiara, directing motorists to strip mall tax accountants as I prance. Though it's not as degrading as, say, voiding my liquefied bowels while napping in a crowded park and scrubbing my nude self off in the river as stunned Vietnamese fishermen look on, or any of the countless other troubles I've got myself into, it somehow feels worse. Like I'd be standing on the sidewalk screaming, "Look at meee! No one will hire me! No one! I'll dress up like a Japanese schoolgirl and let you piss on me for a twenty, whatever you want!"