"Doctor, can you help me?" "What seems to be the problem?" "Writer's Block. I can't seem to get my funny on." "Ahh, yes, that could be a problem." "Ok...so what can I do about my writing drought?" "I don't know--can't think of a thing." Big help...
I need an elixir of Rodney Dangerfield, with a double shot of Woody Allen and Carl Hiaasen--something I can't get at Blue Martini! Some people are dripping with humorous anecdotes and one-liners, with little effort, it seems.
I could make fun of myself, I suppose. Tom's been calling me peg-leg. I've become glued to my sofa lately--not by choice. I fractured my ankle recently.
I'd rather be outside in the pool, enjoying the hot Florida sun, or on the Las Vegas trip we had to cancel this week.
So, I've been following orders to stay off my feet. I'm getting into the Cleopatra routine: Enjoying being waited on hand and foot--pardon the pun. More fruit, maybe a sweet tea, please.
I haven't been through a drive-thru in a long time. Maybe I'll get Jen to take me this week--though, with the luck that's been hitting me over the last few months, I'd probably wind up with an 'unhappy' meal! But I digress.
With a collective heave I hoist myself from the sofa, clogging my way to the kitchen to grab the Dustbuster. Cleo left her cookie crumbs between the cushions-- which has taken on the shape of her bum...