Okay, if anyone has seen me out there somewhere, maybe looking through clearance racks at L&T, or browsing through the New Fiction shelves at Barnes and Noble, or maybe even tying one on somewhere, dropping f-bombs and rolling my eyes back in my head at some dim wit, could you send me back? Because I don't know who the hell it was sitting on my couch tonight, crying through the Kennedy Center Honors for two hours, but it certainly wasn't me.
We can do this without incident. Just ring my buzzer and we can make a quick switch in the dark of night and no one will be the wiser. No one has to know. Because if this Emotional Thing (as represented by the blubbering buffoon on my couch earlier tonight) is going to make friends with Hot Flashes in the near future?...Well, we're all screwed. Seriously screwed. So come on. Bring me back home.