The Sunday New York Times came today with no wedding section, which is my favorite part. "No, I didn't read the piece on China's faceless masses. I was checking out the lingerie ads." That's from the movie Manhattan, and shut up. We have a no-bashing-Woody rule here at this blog.
The point is, disappointed. "Maybe no one got married this week, because it's January and it's cold," said Ned, who I think does not grasp the enormity of New York. Maybe no one gay, rich or attractive got married, since that seems to be the criteria for getting mentioned in that wedding section. You never read about some schlub who works at Highland Appliance marrying his high school sweetheart, unless that high school sweetheart is named Bub. You meet a lot of people named Bub in this world.
Also, 1978 called. Wants its appliance store back.
THE POINT STILL IS, disappointed. "Yeah, January's a stupid month to get married," I said to Ned, as I perused an interview with Anne Hathaway, who I wish would go the way of Highland Appliance.
"January's the stupidest month, ever," agreed Ned. "Nothing good happens in January. It's a pointless month."
I was busy reading Anne Hathaway and didn't answer.
"Oh. Except our anniversary. That's in January," said Ned, who I think thought my stony silence was because I was so deeply hurt that he'd dissed January when really I was all up in Anne Hathaway, who did I mention can go fuck herself?
1978 has joined 1992, wanting the word "dissed" back.
Anyway, I've gathered you all here today to announce our book for Mince Words With June. Because I am in charge, I get to decide, and I have decided we will all read Forever by Judy Blume. I believe the dirtiest part is on page 78, and I haven't looked at that book since 8th grade when I was enjoying some Highland Appliance commercials, but I will bet you anything I'm probably right.
We will meet here on Sunday, February 15, and yes you CAN read this damn book in a month. And do not come to book club and leave the "I didn't read the book, but..." comment. For some reason those make fire come out my nose, and really what doesn't, but still. Anne Hathaway. She makes fire come out my nose.
I super-duper want a locket with that woman's picture in it, so that like four people will look inside and get the joke for the rest of time, but it'll be worth it.
Ned just said that breakfast is ready, and I can't come to the phone right now. I'm practising the piano.