My recent illness turned me into a lump staring at the TV screen for hours upon hours. I’ve had no energy to do anything, including push buttons on the remote. When I ran out of shows to watch on Netflix (I’ll bet you didn’t think that was possible), I turned on cable and absorbed commercial after commercial. My brain is officially washed.
I’ve started wondering if I should speak to my doctor about whatever prescription they’re advertising, even though I don’t have diabetes, heart disease, COPD (whatever that is), erectile dysfunction or disappearing eye lashes. I wonder if I should call the Strong Arm to get the settlement I deserve for that car wreck I haven’t had.
I’m thinking I should call the nanny finder, even though my son is well past nanny-ing. I admire Matthew Mcconnaughey’s smooth-riding Lincoln, having forgotten how smarmy those ads are. I make a mental note to check out the upcoming President’s Day furniture sales until I remember we have more furniture than we can fit in our home right now.
Today was a new low. I caught myself thinking I really should look into Match.com. What am I waiting for? Mental head shake. Last I checked I was married, happily, and I haven’t noticed any mysterious divorce lawyers sending me letters. Good grief.