Sharing the laughter and love
I hurt myself yesterday morning - while shaving. Fascinating, no?
I remember everything. I had difficulties falling asleep the night before and was skimming through the channels. CNNs Larry King Live caught my attention, and with good reason: Larry was interviewing Growing Pains' Tracey Gold. Yep. I'm an 8th grade educated, spandex wearing housewife when it comes to watching television, and Larry is my hero. There's something soothing about an old man interviewing celebrities pimping out their personal lives for entertainment's sake. It wasn't such a good interview though (Larry: You look 11. How old are you? Tracey: I'm 35), and I quickly returned to sleep.
Not long after, the buzzing of my alarm clock triggered a wave of send-headache-to-brain-impulses directly to my cerebral cortex. Sleep deprived and dizzy I made my way to the bathroom, where I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I must say, I looked fabulous given the lack of sleep. While admiring my silky smooth skin, I noticed that my testosteronally challenged facial hair growth somehow increased to what resembled a stubble. Eek!
Immediately I grabbed my Gillette Mach 3-the best a man can get-triple blade-wet shave-aerodynamic head-for better results-razor, and matching gel. And as I was shaving I began to hum the Growing Pains' awful but catchy opening tune. THEN I CUT MYSELF. The horror that is Alan Thicke managed to, once again, ruin my life. For a moment I was in the most emotional and physical pain I had ever experienced. Then the bleeding stopped. The faint scar still itches though, and I can't seem to get the Growing Pains opening theme out of my mind.
There's a lesson in here somewhere, but I don't care to contemplate it.
Leave me alone.
I remember everything. I had difficulties falling asleep the night before and was skimming through the channels. CNNs Larry King Live caught my attention, and with good reason: Larry was interviewing Growing Pains' Tracey Gold. Yep. I'm an 8th grade educated, spandex wearing housewife when it comes to watching television, and Larry is my hero. There's something soothing about an old man interviewing celebrities pimping out their personal lives for entertainment's sake. It wasn't such a good interview though (Larry: You look 11. How old are you? Tracey: I'm 35), and I quickly returned to sleep.
Not long after, the buzzing of my alarm clock triggered a wave of send-headache-to-brain-impulses directly to my cerebral cortex. Sleep deprived and dizzy I made my way to the bathroom, where I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I must say, I looked fabulous given the lack of sleep. While admiring my silky smooth skin, I noticed that my testosteronally challenged facial hair growth somehow increased to what resembled a stubble. Eek!
Immediately I grabbed my Gillette Mach 3-the best a man can get-triple blade-wet shave-aerodynamic head-for better results-razor, and matching gel. And as I was shaving I began to hum the Growing Pains' awful but catchy opening tune. THEN I CUT MYSELF. The horror that is Alan Thicke managed to, once again, ruin my life. For a moment I was in the most emotional and physical pain I had ever experienced. Then the bleeding stopped. The faint scar still itches though, and I can't seem to get the Growing Pains opening theme out of my mind.
There's a lesson in here somewhere, but I don't care to contemplate it.
Leave me alone.
posted by oy Matthew at 03:36
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