Paul and I tend to be grazers in the summer. The thought of a hot meal after a hot day isn’t very appealing.
I'm Just Saying
As with the majority who experienced the wrath of tropical storm Alberto, Paul and I stepped gingerly outside, like laboratory beagles testing uncaged freedom for the first time in their lives, blinking at the sun, surveying our surroundings.
Even if you didn’t watch last weekend’s Royal Wedding (Philistine!), you may have seen the photograph beamed around the world of the family’s newest member, with sparkling eyes and flashing smile.
And what a good boy he is.
I will freely admit it: I am an absolute ninny, nerd, doorknob, when it comes to royal weddings.
I’ve always thought one of the most enticing physical attributes a woman has is her dainty, elegant feet, pedicured with nails painted a subtle, pleasing shade. They’re so youthful, so sexy, slipped into kitten heels or simply barefoot in the grass.
When I’m not renting myself out as one of those super tall, waving, inflatable things at car dealerships, I can often be found emceeing benefits for worthy charities. And the most recent benefit was my church’s talent show with all proceeds going to our youth group.
I have a friend that I’ll call ‘Jon’ (appropriate, really, because that’s actually his name), and he travels. A lot. Endlessly. It has to do with his job and I can’t explain what it is he does because even though he’s patiently explained twice, I’m too stupid to actually get it, so I just nod and pretend I’m following.
When my student and friend, Laurie, arrived for her weekly riding lesson on Wednesday, she pulled back the neck line of her knit top to expose her necklace.
“Look,” she said, “I’m wearing my pearls.”
I stared blankly, not following. They were pretty indeed, I thought, but during a lesson?
Usually, if I’m in front of a mic, it’s because I’m performing stand-up in a theater somewhere, a benefit, or a corporate booking. I can’t see myself ever doing nightclubs again. The unpaid bar tabs alone make that too awkward.
It was sometime in the late 70s that I first heard the astrological term, ‘Mercury in retrograde,’—probably from newspaper horoscopes that warned to hold off signing contracts, travel, or operate heavy equipment as chaos would ensue.