Well not really in the strictest sense. We are all dieing. You. Reading this. (Yeah, you too.) You’re dieing. What’s the Woody Allen gag? “I know I’m going to die. I just don’t want to be there when it happens.”
Me, I’m here right now for the first sniffles and coughs for 2008. Big cheer! . . . No? Okay. . .
I knew it was coming Tuesday. It knocked at the door and said, “Hello. I’m pestilence. May I have a word?”
“And I said, “No, no thank you. We have quite enough pestilence in this house thankyouverymuch.”
And I thought it left. Well not really. I knew it was waiting to pounce like a Santa-suited Salvation Army Volunteer on hapless Christmas shoppers.
So I’m sick. I’ve been worse. I sound terrible though. Sort of like Demi Moore circa 1985 St. Elmo’s Fire when she was really coked up. I sound like that, except my husky rasp is punctuated by KkkkuUUUAAAAaaa- KkkkuUUUAAAAaaa! coughs that are loud enough to upset radio transmissions from air contact controllers to pilots.
In space.
And Stuart is in San Francisco. I have to make my own tea.
Cue Violins.
February 3rd, 2008 at 1:45 pm
Stuart did get her a gift in San Francisco though. xx