1. The Knife, The Ice, The Glove . . .
With the recent obsession regarding clams transpiring as of late, it seemed slightly ironic that, following a complete lock down (or was it a lock up?) of my neck last week (that prohibited my even being able to turn my head in either direction!), I had to put myself on ice for an entire day. Does this mean the knife and the glove are soon to follow?
I’m pleased to report, however, that I recovered from the condition of Blue-Leggedness arising from the aforementioned Hinky Blue Jean Debacle. There was an actual day or so where I’d convinced myself that the only thing to do for it was to cultivate an air of insouciance, simply dye myself blue in my entirety, and pretend that I’d meant to do it all along. Then, perhaps, I’d have to hook up with a Blue Man, or at the very least, start pimping Pentium on the T.V. with the Blue Man Group. Except it would first have to be renamed the Blue Person Group or the Blue (Wo)man Group or somesuch, I suppose.
It also occurred to me that I could also pretend that I was a blue Delvian plant princess, like Zhaan, from Farscape. I have always been both fascinated and mildly envious of Zhaan’s blueness. (And is it just me, or was Zhaan always both scary and, frankly, a little bit hot when she pollinated?) The problem with this blue Delvian plant princess schema, however, is that not only must one have really great cheekbones to pull this kind of blueness off (the kind of cheekbones one could slice cheese on . . . Li-Young Lee cheekbones, am I right?), one must also be exceedingly tall. Which I am not. Although I’ve always had aspirations for this magnitude of tallness. I would love to be WNBA tall! Or Anne Rice’s Taltos tall! But as of yet, these aspirations have remained, sadly, unfulfilled.
Me (to Cats): Hey! That’s my lunch! Stop licking my lunch! Go lick your own lunch! You wouldn’t like it if I went around licking your lunch all willy nilly, now would you?
Cats (in unison): Turkeyturkeyturkeyturkeyturkey! Gimme! Turkeyturkeyturkeyturkeyturkey! Gimmegimmegimme!
Me: OMFG! I can’t believe you just did that! Stop spleening me! (Sigh) Oh . . . all right, then.
Cats (now simultaneously scarfing turkey and chanting, with mouths full, as an uncontrollable mob): Jennie O! Jennie O! Jennie O!
Me: Okay. Stop with the Jennie O-gasm. It’s freaking me out.