Guess who's coming to dinner.
Yesterday, after work, I went to my old house and gathered up my chilluns. How much do you hate me for calling them my chilluns? All of a sudden I'm Mammy, over here. But I AM Mammy, because look at my chilluns! Two of them, anyway. I feel like Edsel would be all, dis bad pikturr, mom. take nu one. He gots a kind of double-chin vibe, going on there. Plus. wonky ears.
If you ever want to thoroughly annoy me, make a big deal out of the picture I put up of you on my blog. "Oh, I HATE that picture! I look awful!"
Sayyyyy, I have an--lemme just--putting my thinking cap on. I GOT IT. Eureka! Why don't you get the fuck over yourself? The only one giving 10 hours of thought about your photo is you.
Oh! And before I forget...
June's Senior Picture of the Day
Here's my boss's boss, doing the thoughtful senior picture pose. "I'm pretty old for this," he told me. "This is literally a senior picture."
Anyway, back to my life. I'd like to point out, for the record, exhibit A, that the above photo of my dogs was not at all taken at that diner's drive-thru or anything. What meat loaf special on Thursday? Ima get fat as a house and never reel in another man.
When in your mind do you have me dating another man? Because I keep seeing spring, spring, spriiiing, but I really just like spring. Like, in those hours out of your day that you consider me and my plight, and you get together with the ladies for your June Coffee Clatch, do you say, Oh, she'll be betrothed by Christmas, or do you say, Well, that was that. She's too old to reel in another one. What say you?
It's funny, I have friends who are beautiful, and talented and fascinating, and they almost never have men. Then I've got other friends who're similarly lovely, and they find men all the time. It's like some kind of energy thing, and I abhor people who talk about energy like it's a real thing and not just a ruse invented by Satan, much like that phony global warming. But really, it's odd, isn't it?
When my Pal From MA visited me the year I was separated--not that I had limbs in one place and then another like The Scarecrow, but I kind of did--she said I wasn't putting out a sexual vibe. Well, how the hell do you do that? So I attached a neon arrow pointing and blinking at my parts, and that did the trick.
Whenever you break up with someone, you get a case of the Nevers. I'll never have sex again. I'll never love this way again. I'm sorry to tell you I sent a link to Dionne Warwick's stellar song, I Know I'll Never Love This Way Again to Fay, Faithful Reader and Beleaguered Having-to-Hear-About-My-Life Fay, just because I was being dramatic.
I mean, Dionne Warwick knows. First of all, she can smell it, because nostrils, and plus also Psychic Friends.
Anyway, my dogs. They are here. I went to Ned's house after work without incident, meaning no crying or kissing or Ned telling me yet another dreadful story about seeing any ex-girlfriends like he did last time. We kept it pretty unemotional, and I got the leashes off the hooky thing, which meant it was time for Edsel to have 40 fits, and we took our bowls and left. That's how all breakups should be. Take your bowls and leave.
The dumbest thing you can do is stand there tearfully and rehash what went wrong. Or ask the dreaded, "Are you seeing anyone?" question. NO ONE REALLY WANTS TO KNOW THAT.
So, here we are, making sure Kayeeeee's carpet loses any semblance of freshness. hullo ant k. we like yur carpitt. we like brad pitz in thelma and leweese. we like yur wife.
Really, that was the best part of the whole movie, when Thelma's husband sees Brad Pitt on the stairs, and Brad Pitt says, "I like your wife." Oh, that was great.
I'd better put on clothes. I know you're all hot and bothered, picturing me writing you from the depths of my purple robe. Oh, speaking of purple, someone in the comments yesterday was in a lather that she can't find my latest Purple Clover. Here it is. It's about spying on your loved ones. I asked y'all on Pie on the Face, the Facebook page where you all extol the virtues of June after your June Coffee Clatch, while wearing your Bye Bye, Pie t-shirt, and let me begin this sentence again. I asked you on Pie on the Face to tell me whether you spy on your person, and I said, "I'm on a deadline, so just for the next few hours, please tell me."
So a lot of you did, and a few hours later I got on there and commented. "Okay, thanks, everyone!"
Next time I went back there, there were 49 more comments. "I never spy!" "I believe spying is the devil, much like global warming!" "I believe the children are our future."
And I was all, OK, we're done now with the commenting. Article's been written and submitted. Thank you very--
"SPYING IS WRONG, JOON." "I've been married 368 years, and I've spied never, and--"
Madre de dios.
It makes me think of the Charlie Brown Christmas, where Charlie Brown is trying to organize everyone to
rehearse for the Christmas play, and they're all just dancing. I like the one kid who shrug dances. I never noticed before the two matching purple-shirted girls with the same dance movez.
Sally was underrated. She was hilarious.
Oh my god, I have to go to work. Am the worst.
Doggedly,
June
