I have a new comment of the week, and this week's commenter fits in nicely with my pie theme. That's all I'm saying. You will have to click on Special of the Week if you want to know more. I know, I can really build the suspense, can't I? June Hitchcock, is who I am.
"I want apple pie a la mode, and I want it heated, but I don't want vanilla ice cream, I want strawberry. But I want the strawberry ice cream on the side. If you don't have strawberry ice cream then I want whipped cream, but only if it's real whipped cream. If it's out of the can, then nothing."
"Not even the pie?"
"No, just the pie, but then not heated."
I have GOT to stop watching When Harry Met Sally. Really.
In other news, that I forgot to tell you in my Things I Forgot to Tell You post from this morning, my friend Sandy, the one who hates it when you tell her what you dreamed the night before, or is it dreamt, is getting married next month. And you know who I need to get married to? An editor who teaches me to STOP WITH THE COMMAS ALREADY.
Anyway, Sandy, who really enjoys it when you call her Sandy, and there I go with commas again, is getting married in MICHIGAN in FEBRUARY, but we will talk about that later, when she is not listening.
My point is that I am trying really hard to talk her into wearing a giant sparkly "June" barrette in her hair when she walks down the aisle, kind of like Amy Winehouse's Blake barrette, which I guess is probably going in the Goodwill bin now that old Blake is filing for divorce. I like how he could put up with Amy Winehouse eating glue and sniffing catnip and whatever else and having twelve teeth left and being saffron colored, but WHAT? She is seeing other men while I am in JAIL? The nerve.
So, since Sandy, who is kind of perfect and elegant and lovely, will never ever in a million years break down and actually wear the June barrette unless we WEAR AT HER SOUL and WITHER HER TO A NUB, I say we all write in and talk about dreams we've had. She reads this blog all the time. I can even forward your comments to her, special like. Start them off, "Dear Sandy" so I'll know they're for her.
She particularly enjoys it when you tell her about your dream and you say, "Well, it was my house, but it wasn't really my house." So throw a lot of those in. Alternatively, you could just write Dear Sandy letters telling her what a fine, upstanding pal I have been lo these TWENTY-FIVE years, and I have never slept with ANY of her boyfriends hardly EVER, and just for that I deserve the wearing of the June barrette. You could try that tactic.
I already sent in the RSVP, so she can't uninvite me. Can she?