Earlier today, I sat in my aunt’s kitchen with my aunt, my collaborator, and my two not-quite-infant cousins, who, confident in the tyranny of the young, demanded that everyone at the table do something his or her favorite character from The Wizard of Oz did. My aunt sang a little bit of “If I Were King Of The Forest”; my younger cousin barked like Toto. When it got to me, it was too late to sing “Somewhere Over The Rainbow,” as my older cousin had already done that. “I can’t think of anything,” I said. “I mean, I could try becoming addicted to Benzedrine and Dexedrine, or giving birth to Liza Minelli, but honestly I don’t rate my chances of success too high in either of those endeavors.” My collaborator accused me of trying to weasel out of the whole thing, since she was certain my favorite character was the Wicked Witch of the West, and I should either cackle or melt, but I swear it’s Dorothy.
My younger cousin then said, “You can SKIP!”
I was forced to skip through the house as if skipping down the Yellow Brick Road.
I was wearing Daisy Duke cut-off jean shorts, by the way. And an H&M shirt.
I don’t need to become an aerobics instructor; as of this morning, I’m already the gayest person on the planet.
In other news, I’ve found the stress of maintaining this blog while working my ass off lounging by the pool far too much to bear. So as of tomorrow, until my return, I’m going to have a guest blogger.
Continuing the tradition of novelty here at the Search for Love in Manhattan, this week’s guest blogger will be someone I’ve slept with. One might point out with some justification that that’s hardly novel at all. However, so far, my depths have as yet remained unplumbed by any of the pool of guest bloggers I’ve had in the past.
As of tomorrow, you’ll be in the capable—and, I may add from personal experience, extraordinarily deft—hands of T.H. Now, judging by the last blog entries in which he appears, you might be surprised to see that we have had a rapprochement serious enough to allow me to ask him to guest blog for me. But that is in fact what has happened.
Or, put another way, he started a blog, sent me an e-mail full of overdone and therefore extremely effective flattery about my own, and I forgave him for being a fool.
Let it be noted that this brings to three the number of people I’ve slept with who have subsequently started blogs.
Enjoy. I’ll be back Saturday.