1. I have nice nail beds. 2. I know a scientist. 3. My laugh. When it’s genuine. (It rarely is.) 4. I’ve studied ancient languages. 5. My hair sometimes shines. 6. I try to be polite and well mannered despite being raised by a barn, on a farm, in a holler, in WV. 7. Before
I hate when people give me diet tips. Save your breath. I’m not after tips. I know them all. I don’t need earth mommas telling me to up my fiber intake or keep an eye on those extra sugar grams. I am the lentil queen and sugar makes makes my neck spasm. I don’t eat
It was four in the morning when she woke me. “They’re there. They wont go away. They’re so mournful and sad.” Turns out two Edwardian chics were standing in the corner of her room. Crying alot. She could feel their pain. It was killing her. I asked if she was on crack and handed her
Bertha was a dying swan. The kind who said “Lawd Lawd” and “My heart, My heart”. Matriarch of a rather large family, she introduced 9 children to the world before her husband died. They, in turn, gifted her with 32 grandchildren. Three gingers by the youngest were, in her eyes, the crowning achievement of her
The girls at the gym were talking about cosmopolitans – and how they drank them sometimes because of Sex & the City, even though they tasted terrible. I could call them sad but I wont because I’ve been there. Done that. Bought the tshirt. I admit it. I love chic lit. I don’t know why.
I think I have man flu. It’s the worse kind. More terrible than anything a woman or child could get. Tall Dark & Handsome has been rolling around with it for three days. Wondering if he’s going to live until tomorrow and “Will you get someone new when I’m gone”. I said I’d think about
Me: “Last week. I got stitches. In my groin.” Reggie: “Sexy.” Me: “You’d think. But no.” Ive not been to the gym in a week. Tried an ‘upper body only’ day but couldnt stay off the rowing machine. I hate the rowing machine. I’m a glutton for punishment. My stitches bled. Ive had one day
I’ve spent today trolling the Writer’s Market. Nothing new there. I’ve been flipping through the tome for the past two months. I prefer the online version but an ill-funded penchant for expensive handbags finds me, more often than not, at the virtual home of Nordies and Saks, when I should be studying the professional directory.
Anne Hathaway Cottage, Stratford Stratford-upon-Avon. I’ve been before, but not on a proper tour. Shakespeare’s birthplace is easy, because it’s on the high street. More or less. You have to take a wee bit of a drive if you want to visit the Hathaway Cottage. Home of the lovely Anne, before she became The Bard’s
1. My right eyebrow has no arch. 2. I’m tone deaf. 3. Procrastination is my drug. 4. I think my teeth are too small. 5. I can’t stop eating hummus. (That’s hummus. Not humans.) 6. I like Britney Spears. 7. I get distracted. Easily. 8. I’m indecisive. 9. I talk too much. 10. I’m afraid
It seems a great pity they allowed her to die a natural death. Every time I read ‘Pride and Prejudice’ I want to dig her up and beat her over the skull with her own shin-bone. – Mark Twain I’ve walked by a museum dedicated to the authoress a good umpteen times, but have never
Before life separated us I had four friends. Earl, Flynn, Jo and Chris. Earl was a tall slim blonde who belched like a trucker and had a flowery feminine name that didn’t suit her. She had brains but wanted brawn. Her hobby was men. Get ‘er done. I bet she loves Larry. She once went