|Lacking thumbs, Petunia could only dream.|
Fast forward two hours. The alarm goes off and I swat at it with a hand that feels more like a canned ham than a human appendage. I utilize that evil invention, the "snooze button," several times--each time falling back into a sleep deep enough to host a dream. I am now groggy, resemble a potato that has just been dug from the earth and almost fell down the stairs which, I swear, were in a different place yesterday. I should have risen, with the roosters, at five.
But, despite my bleary state, I am still coherent enough to grasp the important constants of life. First, Sharon Osbourne must be eliminated from our daily lives and sent back from whence she came with a handkerchief pinned to her inflated busom and a dime in her shoe. Second---Will and Jada should have reconsidered before allowing their daughter's first professional step as an entertainer to be "I Whip My Hair."
I also want to mention Elizabeth Edwards whose words about not fearing death because she was hoping to, in some way, be reunited with the son she lost many years ago, made me sob. She was accused of being a bitch but who wouldn't be after years of living with an egomaniacal snake-oil salesman who, likely, was a philandering bastard before he made a public mis-step and was exposed. So, RIP, Elizabeth---I hope you got to see your son right away.
Have a great day, friends. I actually hear my snooze alarm going off again and since the cats lack the thumb-u-lar ability to do anything about it, I must take care of it. Many years ago, we returned from a week's long vacation to discover that an alarm clock had been beeping for seven days straight. The cats, all huddled at the opposite end of the house with their paws jammed in their ears, were very, very angry at us....