Stiff-necked
It is the end of another week, and the tweaked neck still lingers. The boy-child is wandering through the house singing “Everybodywants to be a cat” and reciting his latest dinner-party advice: Don’t invite a tiger to dinner, because after he finishes his dinner, the tiger will finish you. Good advice, although I don’t know that I will need it anytime soon. I don’t know all that many tigers.
Anyway, the neck is why I haven’t written anything lately: It hurts too damned much to just sit in a chair. It also hurts to lie down, but only if I try to roll over or sit up. If I lie perfectly still and ignore the bits of me that start falling asleep and screaming for a rollover, I am perfectly happy. Please, pity me.
I’m thinking of writing some new greeting-card slogans.
Dating/Dieting:
So I’ve heard you recently gained some weight/Is that why you swallowed your dinner date?
Darn, I think that’s it. I should have written them down.
It just so happens that I'm a tiger. According to the Chinese Zodiac, of course. So, I guess I shouldn't hold my breath for a dinner invitation….
[Nathan: It depends; how long can you hold it? And apparently it was a poem:
Never invite a tiger to dinner
it will eat you first then it will it your dinner
so that's why you never invite a tiger to dinner.
He's working on rhythm, sort of, definitely not rhyme. Nor reason. Hah!]