"There's No Money In That", part 4

And now, the exciting conclusion:

“Hello, Brian?” the voice on the other end asked. I cleared my throat and replied in the affirmative. “This is Milward Simpson over at the Horse Barn Dinner Theatre. The reason I was calling was to thank you for your audition and that I’d like to offer you—“

“I’ll take it!” I’m just glad he never saw me dancing like a wild man in my bedroom. I nearly knocked over my computer in excitement.

“Well, take a breath, now,” Milward cautioned. “Let give you some details about this, because it doesn’t pay a lot.”

“I don’t care about that,” I stupidly replied. “I’m just glad for the opportunity.” The next morning, I woke up realizing that even the severe hangover acquired from the celebratory binge drinking I did with my brother the night before hadn’t diminished my excitement and anticipation. I had done it. I was on my way. I tossed off a silent message to God: Tell Grammy there is money in it.

I suppose I could add an ironic post-script to this, but I'd rather not.