In another life, I was a real estate baron.
I knew, at that time, what a baron was, too. And I applied my title appropriately on my real estate, baroning all over it.
I would order the peasants to grow more carrots in less dirt, as I saw into the future and the day when we could grow carrots on the moon.
Maybe I was a real estate duke.
Later on, in yet another life, I was a slumlord.
I had a better handle on my responsibilities then, and they mostly involved doing nothing at all except demanding payment and waving around a violent-looking weapon. Any weapon, really.
Once, I smacked a guy in the face with a plastic spatula. This is what slumlords do when disappointed.
Sure, he paid me and everything, but it was six days late. Six days late.
That kind of behavior (late payment, standing there with his mouth hanging open, insisting “meester, meester” that I have pity) would normally warrant a thump on the knuckles with a wooden spoon, but my grandmother was upstairs making some chicken dumplings, so I had to improvise.
Also, I was a dude.
Now I’m running out of time to tell you about all of the ways I lorded over people, but I’ll be back later to explain this cryptic post.