We should all thank Veronika for at last providing the perfect way to tell Aunt Harriett, the prude, what your job is--without having to lie to the charming old biddy. Or having to go through the ordeal of her lecturing you on the evils of your trade, and telling the rest of the family, and all the neighbors as well, that you have sold out to the Devil.
Tell her you are an ecdysiast.
I confess, though I am an educated man, with a reasonably good command of the English language, I had never seen the word before today, and though I was resourceful enough to look it up, I still remain unsure as to it's exact pronunciation (Veronika, how about that phonetic spelling). I am dying to use it...
I'm not totally in jest, here. So many of our older and less worldly relatives are merely being polite when they ask, anyway, their minds being more focused on stuffing themselves with another helping of turkey. And those who are intimidated by three or four syllable words will be too embarassed to ask what the hell it is anyway.
If they do, you can easily tell them you are a kind of hostess, or some such clever description of your multi-talented activities, without being forced to torment yourself with having betrayed the honor of the family by having told an out an out lie, and saying you are a nightshift librarian.
By all the laws of social dynamics, you now have the upper hand anyway, since they will be immediately and extremely intimidated by your use of this formal and impressive term. They won't argue about it, or aggressively interrogate you as to the exact fashion in which you greet wealthy clients and visitors to your town, and facilitate the successful completion of their business in your area. They'll go for the turkey and change the subject. And later brag to the rest of the family and all the neighbors how well you are doing with your fancy new job...
Djoser
PS Even if you get found out or someone knows what it means, you have still impressed them with your composure and linguistic skill. Better than being all nervous about it and having to blurt out "OK, goddamnit, I 'm a stripper!", and hearing the collective gasp, spilled drinks, dropped silverware, Uncle Fred choking on that huge bite of turkey, Grandma fainting, etc.



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. I just happen to collect absinthe and opium den paraphernalia.
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