I think I might have the sort of personality type that would lend itself to my becoming a prospector. If I only knew where the gold was in them thar hills, I’d be getting’ myself a floppy hat, growin’ a beard, buying a burro, and settin’ out with just a pick and a shovel for buried fortune.

Although, Mrs. That Dan Guy isn’t tremendously liberal when it comes to beard growing. She pretty much prohibits it. I don’t think you can become a successful prospector with a shaven mug. You sure wouldn't look too authentic while you were in the saloon sipping on a sarsaparilla.

And now that I think of it, I’m not much of a hat person myself – never mind a floppy prospector’s chapeau. Knowing how clumsy I am, it would just be a matter of time before someone had to cut the drawstring away from my ears, as the circulation there was getting stifled.

When you stop and think about it, would I even get along with a burro? We don’t even have a dog, for Pete’s sake – and there’s another thing. Pete is a great name for a prospector. Dan – not so much.

Guess I better put this new pick on eBay…yet another get-rick-quick scheme shot down in flames…

Sigh…

Chow for now!