Tuesday, August 28, 2007

I threw out my shoulder . . .

. . . bowling

. . .
well, simulated bowling

. . .
you know, the kind without an actual ball

. . . the kind that you play into the gloaming on the Wii you got your husband for his birthday.

Thursday, August 09, 2007

Someone Has to Make Sure America's Future Psychiatrists Have Clients

On top of spaghetti
All covered with cheese
I lost my poor meatball
When somebody sneezed.

It rolled off the table
And onto the floor
And then my poor meatball
Rolled out of the door.

It rolled into the street where
A dog ate it up,
And then that poor puppy
Got hit by truck.

The dog is ground beef now
Rolled into a ball
And seasoned with herbs and
A pinch of sea salt.

On top of my noodles
All covered in cheese
There sat my poor doggie
Until somebody sneezed.

[Crescendo and retard] Until . . . somebody . . . sneezed!

[Editorial note: Notice the fun dangling participial in the first stanza! This ditty just keeps on giving.]

Wednesday, August 08, 2007

No Disrespect Intended

I was eyeing my boobs a couple of nights ago, as I'm wont to do in this post-breastfeeding era of my life, mourning the loss the perky set I originally evolved into, when I came to a realization. I have Tori Spelling cleavage.

I don't know if you've viewed the enormous gulf that hovers between Ms. Spelling's breastisies (I know she's a Mrs. now, but I can't remember the new surname), but it's mammoth. You can't possibly even hold a lip gloss there to butter up your lips, ala Molly Ringwald in Breakfast Club. Not. Going. To. Happen.

And as I'm beginning to really get into the self-pity, to clearly go all moppy about the continental drift between my own girls, Barry steps up, in, what I like to think because I love him and I can't go any other way, is an attempt to console me in this only surgically revocable stage of Separate and Sag.

"No, Sarah. No. You don't have Tori Spelling cleavage. You have Loni Anderson cleavage (scroll)."

Loni Anderson cleavage?

Oh yes, you so know that helped. So much so that I immediately filled the bathtub and plunged my head into the water. And yes, my boobs hit the water first. My cleavage, though, trailed far enough behind to stay safe and amazingly dry.