Every Little Thing She Does

Okay, okay, okay. Fine. I know. Sorry.



I've been mulling over ideas to win my way back into the graces of my adoring public. Many amusing ideas have suggested themselves. Or mildly interesting ones anyway.
But not today.
Today I received news that makes me want to find my blankie and spend the day eating Froot Loops and sucking my thumb.
A lovely, talented, intelligent, and (obviously) accomplished Latina has been named Treasurer of the United States.
Why, you ask, Why on earth would this make you want to curl up with many Premium Eating Disorder treats and render yourself insensible?
The lovely Ms. Rios is known to me, you see. Only a nodding acquaintance, my knowledge is of the conocer and not the saber variety, but nonetheless. I saw her on a daily basis, once upon a time. We ate three meals a day in the same cafeteria.
Yes.
Someone I went to college with has achieved National Importance.



Those things in the middle are deep fried Twinkies.






This is not unexpected, and I have been preparing myself for this day ever since graduation. And I mean no disrespect to friends and classmates who have become Reasonably Important or even Famous. My husband went through this a while ago when Conan O'Brien hit the big time. But I'd never met him or had a conversation with him (Conan, I mean. I do converse with The Him, though perhaps not as often as I should).



Actually I can't recall having any conversations with Ms. Rios. That's beside the point. Stay with me here. The point is, I might have, and I could have, if I'd had the foresight to befriend her then.
Actually I shared no interests, educational or recreational, with Ms. Rios, and was not, shall we say, in the same social orbit which is why we were not, and are not, BFFs but that is BESIDE THE POINT.
The point is, she is making me feel inadequate, just by being alive and pretty and accomplished and now the freakin' TREASURER of the UNITED STATES of AMERICA and I deeply resent it, and her.
All right, that's stupid, I'm alive too.
Since I can't be funny about this, I'm going to quote one of my friends, because she is way funnier than me anyway, and she sums it up very well, and I love her.



Says M:
"I don't think it's fair that she gets to sign the money. I can't even write a check without saying a few Hail Marys! Plus we have this bazillion dollar ginormous deficit, so how come she can still go around signing money? And I bet she doesn't even have to sign the money herself, I bet she has her own signature stamp and her own personal assistant to stamp it. Hmpph.
By the way, I already was feeling inadequate enough and now this? Do you think she would feel sorry for me and send me some free money?"



And here's the cherry: Ms. Rios graduated a year AFTER me.

Now excuse me, I must find my Little Debbie Swiss Rolls.

What I Did For Love

[edit 4/30: according to one reader --who shall remain nameless but you'd think he OF ALL PEOPLE would get the joke --I was way too subtle about the point of this monologue. Cliffs notes are in italics.]


When I was a kid, everyone I knew including me pronounced the class of frozen dessert shown at right "sherbert."
[The author opens with a seemingly random thesis. But is it? ]

I started buying my own groceries when I was eighteen. Which was, coincidentally, right about the time when ice cream decided to be scandinavian, and faux scandinavian at that.
[This elaboration of the thesis is a red herring, to heighten the impact of the punch line, and also provide an opportunity to try and be funny. Haagen Dasz, Frusen Gladje...]

I didn't notice until my mid-twenties that there was no R in the second syllable. Which was, coincidentally, right around the time when pasgettees became "pasta." Although to their credit, spaghetti manufacturers didn't jump on it -- they kept calling it "spaghetti," and still do.
[Ibid. Thought "pasgettees" was cute. My bad.]

I was in my late twenties before I realized that sherbet is an anglicization of sorbet. Right around the time when sherbet got jealous of pasta being all euro-chic and everything, and told everyone that from now on it would only answer to Sorbey.
[Ibid. Thought jealous sherbet was funny. Maybe only to me.]

PS I really hate lime sherbet. Orange is okay. Lemon is best, of course.
[Here's the wind-up. Only the first sentence is relevant.]

PPS The Him really loves lime sherbet.
[Second stage wind-up.]

PPPS I just got dressed, and decided to wear my key lime pie colored shirt. (I love key lime pie).
So of course I had to wear just the right bra, because this is the only item of clothing I own that I can wear this particular bra with. Because the Special bra is the color of lime sherbet.
[The last sentence is the PITCH. The implication answers the question posed by the title: The author purchased lingerie in a color she hates and can only wear with one item of clothing because it is a color that suggests a particular food favored by her spouse.
And I want credit for passing up the obvious vulgar play on ice-cream/bra TWO SCOOPS. ]

[ Sheesh.]