A Temporary Separation
Goodbye, Katie. I'll
Foglifter-and-Maybelline routine just isn't going to be
the same without your relentless perkiness and your Abandoned-Puppy
expression, keeping me company for the next couple of weeks.
So long, Anne. Your
perfect eyebrows are my cosmetic inspiration, each and every morning.
See you later, Al.
Hearing the weather forecast for *our neck of the woods* won't be
nearly as much fun without YOU around to deliver it.
And Matt ... my sweet, darling
What can I say? Parting is such sweet sorrow.
the idea of the five of us being separated for the next two weeks. I
really really do. The alternatives are beyond grim. Bryant Gumbel? A
bloated, insufferable gasbag. Charlie Gibson? Scintillating as a stump.
The local 7 a.m. news shows? More painful to sit through than an
eighth-grade talent show. Even though I know it's only temporary, I
wish we didn't have to spend this time apart. Still, I think we all
understand that it cannot be helped. You have important
responsibilities. Eating Jell-O Jigglers with Donny and Marie is
a tough job, but someone's got to do it.
And *I* have a
responsibility to NOT
slam the remote control through my television screen the 43,897,621st
time I hear those fudking TRUMPETS
In the meantime, I hope
that you have a very nice Olympics. I mean this with all sincerity. I
hope that nobody gets hurt, and that everybody plays by the rules, and
that the USA brings home lots of gold. I hope that those who love The
Olympics -- those for whom the games are something
significant and special -- are not
I hope the rest of us
never have to find out what "The Skeleton" is.
And when it's all over
at the end of the month ... when the corporate hoopla and
have quieted down, when the athletes have gone home with their ribbons
and their Wheaties contracts, when it's safe to turn on NBC once again
without hearing that stoopid Olympics theme music every 4.5 seconds
I'll be right here waiting for you, with my coffee and my Maybelline in
I might even listen to
an Olympics anecdote or two without throwing the remote control at you.
P.S. I wear a Size
Sort-of-Medium/Not-Quite-Large T-shirt ... and I'm especially fond of
overpriced souvenir keyrings, airport snowglobes and Donny Osmond CD
throw a rock