A few weeks ago, you may remember me making a rather startling self-disclosure.
Shortly after making said announcement, my coworkers began to come out of the canine closet, revealing to me one at a time, that they, too, were Bh.D. voyeurs.
I’m so thankful I’m not sitting in my lawn chair all alone while I tune in to the train wreck every week.
Well, I would be if I had cable.
Anywho, one of my most precious and best dressed coworkers brought me a gift once she learned of my love for the Dog.
This is what she brought me:
And I read it.
The whole thing.
Do not judge me. I was sitting by the stinky man on the airplane, and I had to have something compelling enough to keep my attention off my overactive gag reflex. Seriously, he smelled like B.O., feet, halitosis and something else that resembled a fish cannery but I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Oh, and moth balls. You’ve seen Pigpen on Charlie Brown? This man didn’t look like him. In fact, he was very nicely dressed. But every time he moved, I smelled that funky cloud that surrounds little Pigpen. It was like he had his own, stinky atmosphere I wanted to just say, “Be still, dude. You’re stirring up the funk!” And if that’s not enough, he was a big fella too. Took up all of his seat and half of mine. By the time we got to San Diego, my back was in a pinch from leaning over the whole flight.
I spent the whole flight dreaming of being old. Old people can say whatever they want and nobody clocks them because they’re old and people think they’re supposed to be nuts. I want to be nuts.
Oh, wait. I already am. Shoot.
You can see why I resorted to drowning my sorrows in this literary masterpiece. It was either that or lose my already questionable mind. Besides, one can only read the American Way magazine so many times before dementia sets in.
After having read several pieces of very educational and classic literature, I can definitively say, this is not one of them.
Although it was a New York Times #1 bestseller.
So, here’s my synopsis of things I learned about Dog that I didn’t know before:
- He quit school in the 7th grade and never went back.
- He’s earned and lost more money than I’ll ever see in my lifetime.
- He’s a politician, a slick-talker. He’s got street smarts that no book can teach.
- His ideas of faith and God are very different from mine.
- He’s the king of the comeback.
Oh, and Beth’s about the smartest woman alive. Don’t let her blonde hair and big bail jumpers fool you. Homegirl’s got skills.
Note: in our family, we call boobs bail jumpers. This is the story of how it happened. One day, the preteen, cute, but still flat-chested Diva was wearing a shirt that kept falling down in the front.
Me: Pull up your shirt. Your girls are going to get out.
Diva: Mom, I don’t have any girls.
Me: We need to put some socks in there then.
Diva: Moooooommmmmm. Seriously?
Me: I’m serious. Those things are going to jump out. Like people jumping bail.
Diva: Oh, now I’ve got bail jumpers?
Me: No, but you will one day, honey.
Note 2: We use the terms bail jumpers and bond jumpers interchangeably when referring to the previously dubbed and, as yet, non-existent girls (read: mosquito bites). Feel free to use it at your house. It’s just one part of a very complicated code.
Should I read his second work?