You haven't heard how Sunday night's concert went because--although I could say a few amusing things about it--too damned much has happened since then. In the past week I've had three performances, all involving wearing some kind of dorky "musician" outfit, two days where I'm taking my daughter to have her brain weighed (or whatever child developmental psychologists do) two days where I'm becoming a desktop publisher, and two annual meetings of ladies' organizations, at both of which I end up wearing?
Yep, there's a little orchid in the ice box right now that's saying "Thank you, Poppy, for agreeing to become a corporate member of the Tinkerty Tonk Women's Club." And by Friday there will be another one, from yet another ladies' organization.
Mind you, these are ladies, not women. Ladies are a breed apart, and being such a dirty-minded pottymouthed weirdo,* I don't particularly enjoy hanging around with them. But I do it once in a while, just to prove that I can. It's kind of like Nan Kempner hanging around in a leather bar.
The desktop publishing is me filling in for our usual professional desktop publisher, who decided to go to China this week. Nice life, hunh? I'd like to go to China, but no, I get stuck hanging around Chicago wearing a corsage after corsage. When I'm not rushing off to Kinko's to get the thing I "designed" printed so I can fold it and bring it to the meeting and get all this crap over and done with, for Lord's sake.
I am frantic, and I am NOT exaggerating. I can't remember the last time I took a shower. If I were younger I'd smell like a shithouse on a tuna boat, or maybe the dirty clothes hamper at a frat house, but one of the advantages of aging is that you just don't get as smelly. I hope.
OK, OK, I'll take a shower. Happy?
* And if you don't believe me, just wait a couple of paragraphs.