Has your own stupidity ever paralyzed you? That’s how I’m feeling right at this moment, totally paralyzed. I opened an envelope and out fell a bill for just over $600 for an ad! I stupidly had read the terms of the contract wrong, and had purchased what I thought was one year’s worth of ads, and it turns out it’s per issue! Excuse me while I got outside and scream for a minute.
Besides screaming, I find singing helps most things go along more smoothly. I have actually composed a booklet of songs, just for the dogs. Most of them are actually just for Arnie, such as Phantom of the Okanagan (sung to the tune of Phantom of the Opera).
“Look on the bed, and there you’ll find
The dachshund of the Okanagan’s there
He’s in your mind.”
By the way, if you’ve never seen the Andrew Lloyd Webber production of Phantom of the Opera, you’re missing something. I bought tickets for the four of us when the kids were about nine and twelve, and we were all completely blown away by the experience. When the chandelier swings over your head and crashes into the stage, you know you’re in for the ride of your life.
My brother-in-law Martin commented that he didn’t really like musicals, as he said most people on his street don’t burst into song spontaneously. Denis dryly muttered, “Try livin’ at my house.” He’s very used to having the theme from Green Acres sung to him at the drop of a hat. I particularly enjoy purring Eva Gabor’s words, “I just adore a penthouse view. Dahling, I love you, but give me Park Avenue.”
I had a crazily busy week with the fruitcake business, and it’s just going to get much worse. I had a lovely comment, “nice read” on one of my blogs from a stranger who stumbled onto my site by accident. I felt happy about that. I also got orders from Comox and Victoria, so feel my fame is starting to spread.
Not that fame can go to a person’s head if one has to deal with this. I got up and there was Nicky’s pile of laundry, with a note printed in capital letters on top saying, “DO NOT OVERDRY THESE CLOTHES.” He’s quite a vain little individual, and thinks he knows a thing or two about the care and maintenance of clothing. Though he realizes he doesn’t know how to do it himself, he nonetheless thinks he knows enough to give proper instructions to the maid.
As I load the washing machine, I burst into a happy rendition of the theme song from Gilligan’s Island. Like screaming, singing truly is a wonderful form of therapy.