By the time you read this, I’ll be gone.
That was dramatic, wasn’t it? Did you think I was dropping out and turning on or something? Going back to my childhood and joining a vegan commune of some sort? The truth is, I’m at the beach.
My pal Sleeping Beauty is renting a big house on the Outer Banks, and she’s asked me to join her for a few days (which, by the way, means we are going to MAKE OUT CONSTANTLY, in Marvin's mind. Marvin seems to think that all women friends are just dying for an opportunity to make out. Whatever with his Spice Channel self).
The last time Sleeping Beauty and I rented anything, it was a cabin in Michigan when we were 22 and all we brought for a week was a big box of White Zinfandel and a bag of baby carrots. I wish I were making that up.
The Beaut and me on our baby carrot trip. We don't LOOK hungry! It's too bad we couldn't find bigger shirts.
I have never been to the Outer Banks, but if you whip out your trusty map of the US, you will see that the outer banks of North Carolina are like this little strip, this little finger, of land separating me and the ocean. I really, really hope there is not a tidal wave or a tsunami or whatever.
See how I can’t have fun? I can’t go to a beautiful beach with an old friend and enjoy myself. No. I have to think about being sucked into the ocean, and drowning to death, and will they have my funeral here in North Carolina or back in Michigan, and will my LA and Seattle friends show up, and will they play dumb music. I’m gonna be really mad if they say, “Oh, June loved I Got the Music in Me. Let’s play that." I can just see Marvin doing that to me as sort of a final joke.
When Marvin dies, he wants me to play 76 Trombones and Whoot! There it is. When I am particularly annoyed at him, I start to plan which I’ll play first, or will I be really mean and just constantly play Hotel California in the background. Seriously, he hears ONE NOTE of that song and stampedes for the button.
Marvin also wants a tombstone that reads, “I’m With Stupid” pointing at my tombstone, which of course is going to say, “I told you I was sick.”
I do not know why today’s post has taken such a morbid turn.
At any rate, tomorrow I am re-running one of my favorite posts, so we won’t have Ask June this week. Try to carry on. And no, I don’t have a Blackberry or iPhone or laptop to blog at the beach. First of all, no. And second, my husband is a fifth-grade teacher. We are lucky we have indoor plumbing. An iPhone. I wish.
When I get back I will award the Comment of the Week, so everyone be witty while I bask in the sun and get melanoma. And don’t forget to frickin’ vote for me. Even I’m getting sick of myself with that plea.
[Obligatory Henry baboon-butt picture]