Man, you know what I missed? Grown-ups. Who laugh at my jokes. So thanks for being mostly that today, audience. I enjoyed it.
I would have enjoyed it more if my uterus hadn’t spent the bulk of the show using what I can only presume was a chainsaw to try and escape its fleshy prison, but, y’know, such is life. Turns out not one single brand of painkiller works for me anymore, so I yearn for the days when a woman could see out the duration of her monthly courses lying delicately upon a chaise lounge, curtains drawn, while perhaps a pianoforte tinkled a melancholy tune in the distance. Nowadays, the only time I can expect to spend sprawled on a chaise is when I’m being wheeled around on it in a restricting ballgown, wearing the world’s heaviest wig and all the makeup in Tuolumne County, while the sole tune to be heard is being played by me. On a trumpet. (Come see Cinderella, it’ll all make sense.)
COMING THIS WEEK TO HEATHER’S LIFE: Waffle breakfast with my host-family from Gypsy! Fancy dinner with the greatest elderly gay couple of all time in their house of plundered antique treasures! Meeting my boyfriend’s eleven-day-old nephew! Mary Zimmerman and Not Pie with The Quartet, early 2000s-style! Attempting to cook a Thanksgiving dinner for two without destroying all of San Mateo in the process! Auburn for a not-cooked-by-me-thank-god Thanksgiving with my family! Aaaaaand then some more shows. And maybe a coma.