Back to the story, you wake up in the morning on the floor in your living room. You feel like crap. An idea occurs to you: Cover the ice caps in salt to stop climate change and save the planet! You reckon this is genius but you head hurts so bad, you cannot think it through.
Despite feeling like crap and being on the floor in your living room on this particular and fateful morning, you are a handsome chap in a classical young Jimmy Stewart type way, like when he called himself Mr Smith and went all the way to Washington to fight for what he believed in. You are going to do that in this story but in your own modest and less dramatic way. You think if you ever get round to having a baby you would quite like to call it Jefferson, after Jimmy’s character of course, not the American psychedelic rock band although Surrealistic Pillow is one of your favourite records of all time. First, however, you need to find a wife; and this is partly what your story is about. You heard a joke when you were in Amsterdam with your best friends from school on a quasi journey of lopsided hedonistic self discovery: My mother in law can’t have children. As jokes go, it is not a very good one but there is something about it that appeals all the same.
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