(Obligatory Henry photo. So you'll leave me alone.) (Wow, look. I must have spilled coffee on that cupboard door, which you can't see in real life because I am never staring down at it like this. Now I have to go clean it. This is why Marvin hates coffee. Don't tell him about this.)
What cracks me up about all y'all is I never know what will make you comment. I never in a million years thought the Bob Seger/Monty Python combo would elicit 9,321,092.45 comments.
The Nester taught me to say "all y'all." Isn't it awful? And yet I can't help myself.
Oh, and speaking of how annoying I am, if I forget to tell you that Gladys is comment of the week for ONE MORE DAY, well, it'll be time for the NEXT comment of the week, is what it will be.
Look. I'm linky again. I'm Linky Tuscadero.
And you know what else I forget all the time now? Ask June. I have forgotten to do Ask June on Friday for the last 78 weeks. You can see I made a fine secretary. And also a stellar waitress. Oh, I was a terrible waitress. Cause scattered? Not me!
I used to work at Jacobson's restaurant in college. Jacobson's was a high-falutin' department store, and the restaurant served what-were-high-falutin'-at-the-time salads and sandwiches. Like chicken salad. Trust me. There was a time chicken salad was considered classy, as were radishes.
The restaurant also served drinks, and what was fun for me to watch were these 79-year-old women, dressed to the nines and sometimes tens, ordering the crab salad and three Manhattans. Which also used to be classy. I think Manhattans are whiskey and vermouth and that's it. But there they were, these women, gettin' toasted at 11:30, and YOU COULDN'T EVEN TELL.
I had such fun there. I worked lunch, so I had to be there at 10:30 and I was done by 3:00 at the very latest. The only drawback was it cut into tanning hours, but that's why God invented tanning booths. What malignant melanoma any day now?
I got a free lunch, so there was a lot of chicken salad in my life, and I worked with a group of gay guys who made me laugh so hard that I couldn't go out there to badly wait tables sometimes. When the old ladies would be cranky, we'd serve them decaf when they wanted real coffee.
And right in front of the building was the bus stop, and that bus took me right to my aerobics class. Oh, it was perfect.
I made about $100 a week in tips, which sounds sad now, but it was just enough to cover drinks and tanning lotion, which were my requirements for living. What wrinkles?
During the summer, they served a special salad that came inside half a cored-out pineapple. There were three scoops of mayonnaise-based salads in that pineapple. Or maybe one of the scoops was sherbet. I forget.
What I do remember is after I served those, every single time I would pick up the empty half-pineapple, dance into the kitchen with it on my head, and do a Carmen Miranda impression. With my polyester waitress uniform and nude hose. And perm. Mmm!
Okay, seriously, how did I get off on that tangent? Now I must shut up. And guess what I forgot to do again?
Ask June why she is such a numskull.