Question: Can a blond person blame her idiotic behavior on being blond if the blond came out of a bottle?
Sometimes I think I'm losing it. Truly. A few days ago, I dropped by a jewelry doctor to have a necklace repaired. I had broken the tiny clasp...or so I thought. In two seconds flat, the jeweler informed me it wasn't broken, that it had just become unhooked from the opposite side.
HOW I MEANT TO RESPOND: "I'm so BLIND I can't see the clasp without my reading glasses."
HOW I RESPONDED: "I'm so BLOND I can't see the clasp without my reading glasses."
Well, the guy cracked up and I managed to see the humor in it, too. Then things got worse. I asked if he had ring guards. Let me back up. When I married, my husband bought me a beautiful, simple band. Many years later, he bought me a ring with a larger diamond in the center and two smaller ones on either side of it. I wear it with the band, but the diamond ring is always sliding around to the back of my finger. I thought a pretty guard would hold it in place, but this store didn't have any I liked. So I asked the jeweler if he could attach the diamond ring to the band. He said yes, and I proceeded to show him which ring I wanted on top and which on bottom. The minute the instructions were out of my mouth, I realized that it didn't matter -- neither ring had an "upside down." The jeweler's brow arched, his mouth twitched. "I just said something blond again, didn't I?" I asked. He couldn't stop laughing as he wrote up my receipt.
A funny thing happened on the way to our cabin last week. Before we drove into the mountains and past the point where I have cell service, I decided to check my voice mail. To my surprise, I had a message from a confession magazine editor telling me she wanted to buy my story (insert very suggestive title here.) What? I never wrote any such story.! I called and told her so. She put me on hold, and when she came back on, she read my name, address and the titles of four stories I'd sent her as a "package." She wanted to buy only one of them. The one called (insert very suggestive title here). A buried memory began to dig its way up from the bottom of my brain. My friend Ronda and I years ago...writing novels...suffering rejection after rejection...hearing about other aspiring novelists making a little extra cash by selling stories to the confession magazines...coming up with some ideas of our own...laughing about them...writing them up...sending them off. One of hers sold. I never heard a word...until almost a decade later, driving down the highway to my cabin in Colorado and checking my voice mail. So, guess what? I'm about to make a whopping one-hundred-thirty bucks on a "confession" story I made up and wrote ten years ago entitled (insert very suggestive title here) !!
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