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Monday, December 06, 2004

Wasting Away

Sometimes I’d like to walk outside and uproot a utility pole with my bare hands. The problem is that I have the sort of weak, womanly hands you read about in such magazines as Women’s Day and Parlor Pastimes Quarterly. I also wear several heavy rings. Sometimes my rings are so heavy and my hands so womanly that I can barely lift my arm high enough to brush a wispy feather from my alabaster cheek.

Maybe I wouldn’t be so weak if someone would bring me my meals. I refuse to fix my own meals. My cooking is beastly and my baking is worse. It tastes like texture and salt. And that’s just my signature tiramisu.

2 Comments:

Blogger Chris Cope said...

Has Fat Old Molly neglected you again? Shall I have my man drive round to your estate and collect you? We can dine together.

4:32 PM  
Blogger Esther Wilberforce-Packard said...

Yes, she’s horrible! You can send your man round, if you like. He’s dreadfully handsome. But I can’t dine with you. Your daughter’s 26-inch prosthetic proboscis keeps me in a state of terror. And you know I can't eat in a state of terror!

5:21 PM  

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