So, how ya doing?
I'm Just Saying
We go through a lot of rugs in this household.
I mean, a lot. Something like every two to three months. Too many elderly bladders and delicate stomachs reacting to having secretly ingested something disgusting from the manure pile are the usual culprits. And then there’s the dogs and cats--
I am not the first to say it, and for this I am very glad, but it appears there is a ‘community spreading’ occurring in our little town as well as those surrounding it.
I’ve become quite the fan of Dr. Anthony Fauci, the head of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious diseases. You’ve probably seen him sitting or standing to the left of President Trump during press conferences.
When Paul’s sister, and Michael’s mother, Liesbeth, as she was affectionately known, passed unexpectedly last week it was a sucker punch for all concerned.
Oh, those little behaviors that sneak into ones (or, let’s be real, my,) vocabulary that signify the advent of becoming an ‘old timer.’
It’s been suggested, despite our dogs being litter mates and pledging allegiance to each other first, with nary a second thought for Paul or me, that they are suffering from separation anxiety.
Most of the stand up comedy I do these days are private, corporate events which are quite pleasant: professionally run, appreciative, a quick turnaround. Perfect for someone whose goal is to not only work as little as possible, but desires not to be gone long from home and hearth.
It was either that or a Senate seat.
Ignorance of the law is NO excuse, so let this be a lesson to all of you would-be drivers of giant wieners.
(I’ll pause while you wipe down your laptop screen.)
When you live in a house with four cats and two dogs, who shed with the same prolificacy as Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree lost its needles, one must (let me rephrase that to ‘I must’) in order not to look like a complete slob, vacuum every.single.day.
But wait, there’s more!