The Reluctant Housewife or Dorothy Parker Ate My Puppy

"When I got married, I said to my therapist, 'I want to do something creative.' He said, 'Why don't you have a baby?' I hope he's dead now." Joy Behar

Tuesday, August 30, 2005

New Project

I've a fantastic title for my next project, and am brimming with enthusiasm.

So far, 205 words. Not a lot, but it's a start. I love it when ideas, memories and imagination coalesce into potential.

Aside from that, I walked through the streets of Chelsea and Fulham this morning, slowly, relishing the sun and the light breeze that made it bearable. My hospital check went as well as any occasion when an Australian ex-farmer shoves an ultrasound stick into your vagina and wiggles it about as though he's digging for gold can go.

This evening I have to make vodka jelly in a rabbit mould for a dinner party tomorrow night. My friends and I started a drinking society at Cambridge and we've kept it up ever since. Most driking societies involved sitting in a dark medieval hall in candlelight, opposite a chinless idiot who vomited between courses. We gave up on the traditional approach and decided that if we were going to get drunk we might as well:

a. Do it properly, with vodka, not cheap chianti.
b. Avoid bow tied fools who had yet to have sex but lived in hope.