My brother-in-laws and other male acquaintances tend to give me a hard time about my job. They've somehow gotten the notion that I just hang out all day with Victoria's Secret models. Maybe it's my fault. I haven't done anything to dissuade them. They're all very respectable guys in their way: doctors, lawyers, architects, civil engineers. They're mostly older and probably have more discretionary income than I do because they don't live in Manhattan. So let them think I just sit around in my Herman Miller Aeron chair occasionally glancing over at my computer monitor while Giselle and Daniella feed me grapes. My everyday reality might not be quite that glamorous, but it's not bad. As my neighborhood veterinarian so eloquently put it: "Hey, it's gotta be more fun than irrigating the abcessed anal glands on an Irish Wolfhound." I had to agree.