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Showing posts from November, 2010

A Sign of Things to Come

I have found myself making raspberries as part of my vocabulary.      The other day, in the Goodwill, I had a sudden prophetic vision of me--the tangle-haired old woman with a Goodwill shopping cart full of crap--making big, fat, farting noises with my tongue at every butt ugly holiday sweater I saw, including those on actual people.   Look, I'm not going to go toe-to pointy-elf-bootie toe with you on fashion, but if you need a holiday sweatshirt to get you in the Holiday Spirit, maybe you deserve what you get, though.      Occasionally, like the clothes in my closet, I have to do a certain amount of inventory and culling of personal habits--like going to the thrift stores every day, or chewing my thumb cuticles into bloody hamburger--after I get senile that won't matter to me so much, but right now, I've got to be at least a teeny bit vigilant, lest I stop showering or start muttering to myself in grimy subways or start putting children into stews and so on.