Remember in Silence of the Lambs when that poor size-14 girl was at the bottom of that pit, screaming and crying, and the puts-the-lotion-on-its-skin guy was at the top of the pit making fun of her screams?
I have been coughing those terrible coughs where you have to bend over, and then you make that terrible choking sound where you try to gasp for air for a second, and Marvin has been making fun of those coughs. Isn't that awful? He also keeps saying, "Oh, I'm so sick" in a nasally voice.
Also, it occurs to me that the puts-the-lotion-on-its-skin guy probably gets out more than I do.
That movie was rude, because isn't the average size of women in this country size 14? And they kept continuously referring to size 14 as "big and fat." I remember it. I am certain it made half this country feel delightful. Stupid Hollywood.
When I woke up this morning, getting back to my illness because I am certain you haven't heard enough about it these past few days, everyone was gone from the bed. Everyone. The whole house had deserted me.
I understand cats and husbands deserting me, but my DOG? Isn't the whole point of dogs that they are loyal? Isn't that why you put up with them and the jumping and the shedding and the bark bark barking? The barking, which is louder and deeper than any girl's bark ought to be who isn't transitioning like Chaz Bono?
The barking, which happens when someone walks by, when a stroller strolls by, when God forbid a dog walks past, when another dogs barks anywhere in a 10-mile radius, when anyone THINKS about another dog, when anyone anywhere in the galaxy even SKETCHES a dog in charcoal?
Isn't that why I put up with that? Because in return there is supposed to be this undying love and loyalty?
Did you ever go to Scotland and see that statue of that dog, who sat on his owner's grave for the rest of his dog life? Every day he'd trot down to the cemetery and sit on his owner's stone.
My dog? "Ew. She's mucus-y. Gee, look at the time."
You know who was faithful to me yesterday, of all people?
About once a quarter, Francis gets off his chair in the back room and goes visiting. He, too, gets sick of not going anywhere like me and the puts-the-lotion-on-its-skin guy. I was working all afternoon on my statistics book, which I mailed off and can't help but think, will it have cold germs on it, still, when it gets to California on Monday?
Anyway, he was my left-hand man all afternoon. And yes, that IS a cyst on his side. Because like me, he just gets sexier.
Despite my near-death status and the part where I keep seeing a tunnel and a light, I am going to try to edge the lawn this afternoon. I have big plans. Also, comment of the week goes to Laurie Who is Not as Witty as Your Other Commentors. That's what she calls herself, but see? She just got comment of the week, so she must be witty after all. Go click on This Week's Special to see.