I was floundering. There is no doubt about that; divorced, unemployed, cat-less and without direction. At the suggestion of my family I go to a life-coach to help me get back on track. This should tell you the amount of desperation I am feeling.

Thirty minutes before the first session my life coach cancels because she is hung over and still possibly drunk from the Paul McCartney concert. The second session I see a diploma on the wall, which appears to say that she’s a doctor. I say “appears” because diploma was on the wall behind her desk and kind of high up- the type was too small to read. Still, she might be a doctor, which is impressive until you realize that chiropractors are also considered “doctors”.

I speak with her for an hour I tell her of my life, my failed marriage, my failed career, my non-existent dating life, my past troubles with alcohol, all of it. I laid it out- all the cards on the table. In my desperation for the next right action I got truthful. After the hour is complete she give me the answer.

“Go to Afghanistan”

That was it. I apparently hadn’t emphasized my cowardice to her.

“Don’t people get shot there?” I ask- suspecting she hasn’t kept up with current events.

She waves her hand dismissively, as though my negative thoughts might be the root of my problems. She is convinced, and excited for me. So excited that I began to get excited.
“Yes” I think to myself “Afghanistan- how did I not see it?”

I raise a few questions, playing devils advocate, so it doesn’t seem like we are going off half-cocked.
“What if someone tries to kill me?”
“Will a bullet proof vest make me look fat?”
“Do they even have ice cream there?”

She answers with the deftness of a trained doctor.

“That’s just stinkin’ thinkin’” motioning to a shelf of books that must somehow relate to stinkin’ thinkin’

I pause, letting this truth wash over me.

“But I’d like to develop a relationship with a woman- maybe date again, I don’t see that happening in Afghanistan.”

She gives me such a sad, pitying look and speaks slowly so I can understand.

“When you are in Afghanistan, you hire a woman to clean for you and part of the deal is she has sex with you.”

“But, I’d like to consider myself the kind of guy that doesn’t go to prostitutes”

“Prostitution” she explains “is such a western term.”

“huh?” I queried

“Assignment for next week!” she shouts, clapping her hands and awakening me from my stupor. “I want you on 3 dating web sites!!”