Hi to everyone! I’m working hard, trying to promote my brand new book, HIGH ANXIETY, but I wanted to come up for air and set something straight: I am NOT dead.
I discovered, quite by accident, that there are at least three other women bearing my name. (And, here, I thought I was special.) I hope I have my information right, but it seems one of them is 115 years old, the other one just died at 85, and the last one is po’d at some man and spewing bad language all over the place. Of course, it’s difficult to talk about men without using bad language, am I right?
I hope I don’t live to be 115. For me that would mean adult diapers, gumming food, and wearing my bra around my waist because I don’t think breasts were created to live 115 years. As for my butt; we’ll, I shudder to think of it because I’ve seen my butt at 55. It happened by accident — I sure as hell wouldn’t have done it on purpose — as I was getting in the shower and happen to glance over my shoulder at the huge wall mirror. The only person who has a bigger butt than me is my aunt on my mother’s side of the family, and she’s not doing well. If she dies that means I’m going to have the biggest butt in the family.
I’m not even sure I want to live to see 85. By then, what’s left of my mind will have been long gone. My kids will hire a caretaker for me named Cruella or Attila. Medicare and social security will be nonexistent, and I’ll have to eat cheap dog food as opposed to healthier ones like Pedigree or .
As for the woman spewing curse words over some man; well, that could have easily been me.