Sex and the single bulldozer

My cold has settled into my chest and my voice has a sexy, husky sound.  Well, sexy as long as you can't see the red nose and mucous-filled tissue clutched in my hand.  Back when my job was to make calls and generate leads for salesmen, the days when I was sick were some of my most successful ones.  Something about my voice saying, "Hey, Mr. Decision-Maker.  You looking for some heavy machinery? I can help you out."  From the reaction of the guys on the other end of the phone, I must have sounded like a platinum blond with Hooters-worthy boobage.  I have no idea if they actually bought anything when the salesman made the follow-up call but that wasn't my problem.  I was doing my job.  The fact that I had just rolled out of bed in my stained T-shirt and bedhead didn't matter.  I could be anyone I wanted on the phone and I learned to play it.

If I'd known then what I know now, I could have turned that voice into real money by starting a sex line for Mormon men.  The right post on Craigslist and the calls would have been rolling in.  Confession-free phone sex. Your temple recommend is safe.  "Hi, my name's Molly.  Can I hold your priesthood?"  

Um, have I really become this cynical and jaded?