I know what you’re thinking. It’s time for me to close down this LJ because how can I top a poem written to a vegetable that I don’t even like?
You’re right. I should end it here. Trust me, I’ve been tempted to do just that many times over the past few months.
Instead, I won’t.
When Lynne drove us to New Orleans a few weeks ago, she asked me to get a piece of gum from her purse. I pulled out a pack of Dentyne, and she was all, “Not THAT gum. The other gum.” So I began digging around in her purse again, passing over what looked like a chic pack of condoms. (Well, honestly, everyone should have condoms at all times, even if just to hand them to a friend at a significant moment, and one doesn’t question a woman about what’s in her purse. In fact, one doesn’t even look in another person’s purse, except under orders or in case of an urgent need of insulin, nitroglycerin, or a Kleenex. But if Lynne had ever bossed YOU around, you’d know to damn well do what she says.)
Lynne: It’s a small black square.
Becky: Oh, THIS? I thought this was a pack of condoms.
Lynne: [squelching look]
Becky: Okay, this is about the most sophisticated pack of gum ever. How does it work?
Lynne: [heavy sigh] Turn it over and open it.
So yesterday, while in Office Depot getting paper because I’m printing A COVENTRY WEDDING (no, it’s not finished–Hi, John!–but it’s being edited and getting finished today and tomorrow), I spotted Lynne’s brand of gum at the impulse buy display. I followed my impulse and bought it.
Probably those of you who watch TV instead of working nonstop on your manuscript–Hi, again, John!–except for moments that must be shared with LJ, have seen the commercials for “5,” which Wrigley officially introduced in the U.S. last summer.
I am always months behind. As my editor could tell you.
Edit: Hump Day Happy will return next week. You’re all feeling just a little more secure now, admit it.