Surely you must be kidding....
Sadly, no. It's time to get serious. I often consider myself a housewife. Without, of course, a house and a husband. I like to imagine myself taking ghost children to soccer practice, fussing over grass stains, and trying to tell them that Daddy left because they were terrible children.
But, apparently it's time to be serious about something.
Seriously.
I still don't know what that means, but I do know that I'm joining a writers' collective that seems pretty serious. Dominatrix-style rules about attendance and who brings snacks what week.
If anyone has a good recipe for merengue cookies come my week, the housewife impulse in me might take over. And, Daddy really did leave because you did sloppy hospital corners whenever you made your bed.
posted by segrant at 4:15 PM
2 Comments:
Here is what happened when I tried to talk to the Master Trope by connecting my Motorola PebL cell phone to a live electric current:
- Prominent Brooklyn comedian Eugene Mirman presented me with a magic cummerbund; while wearing this cummerbund, I was immune to the ennui that results from checking email and finding only messages that you were expecting, but were not excited about.
- Ability to pronounce "onchocersiasis" degraded by "flannel tongue".
- Vision quest result in replacement of "flannel tongue" with "golden wiener of David Boreanaz."
- I saw this terrible Russian movie with Katie, which suffered terribly from a lack of wieners of any sort; also, featured the following:
DUDE
I can turn into a bear.
CHICK
I can turn into a tiger. But I'm not going to.
DUDE
Nor am I.
Enjoy the fricking Opera! Libiamo!
I always wanted my mommy to tell me that my daddy left because of me.
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