House Hunting

I am giving up. I am looking for a nice, peaceful cave in the mountains. I am henceforth keeping company with bears, elk, and an occasional rock chuck. I have never fit it with the rest of woman-kind, and it is unlikely I will start now. When God handed out decorum, dignity, and poise, I was down at the creek trying to untangle my fishing hook, complete with worm, from my hair. At one time, I hoped to be known for something generally held to be positive: my great success, my great kindness, my great intellect, my great wealth, or my great talent. But after this week, I see clearly that my role in life is to be the ape in the drawing room, the hippopotamus decked out in a tutu, the lady whose red and white polka dotted pantaloons are sticking out. Have you ever seen the TV show Reba? Well, I am Barbara Jean with moral values. I am the lady who leaves the restroom with toilet paper trailing down her pant leg. I am the gal who, the only time she appears in a television interview, has a booger in her nose.

I had a friend who once told me, “You don’t like to be in the limelight, or even close to it.” Well, now you know why. If I were in the limelight, it would only show that my zipper was down, and I had a mascara smear running from my nose to my chin.