Elbows Guy emailed me back yesterday about the Elbows thing, and when I didn’t answer, he emailed again this morning to ask if I was “still alive?”
No, I am not alive, sir. My elbow skin overtook the rest of my body and I collapsed in a pile of ash like one of the slain vampires on Buffy.
(It’s Monday. I’m irritable. His initial response will be reported in detail later today, because it borders on brilliance.)
Tonight I went to a “mindful” yoga class, trying to relax and learn to be more present.
While lying back on a pile of pillows with our legs open, the instructor told us to imagine a divine being offering us a magical sponge to absorb our impurities.
My divine being was Angel from “Buffy,” and the sponge was contraceptive.
I think I did it wrong.
#spongeworthy
I caught this rerun on TV the other day. Spike speaks the wisdom.
Signed,
Love’s Bitch
I’d love to bottle this feeling so I can have it ready when I need it.
Oh, wait. It IS in a bottle. It’s called beer.
Smug Singleton 