In fact, she even heard from a Hollywood producer. I’ll say no more, but I’m proud of her. (Or whatever is appropriate to say here—it’s not like I invented her or anything.) I’m also plum (plumb?) tore up with envy.
Envy, as you know, is my deadly sin of choice. Well, not choice, exactly. It’s the sin I can’t seem to shake. I’m the Dame Edna of Dallas.
My envy is conflicted, of course, since Ruth’s witty essay is about having cancer. So while I would like the accolades she is receiving, I’d really prefer to take a different route. I’m pretty sure Ruth feels the same way.
She’s being very magnanimous about it, too. “You’re funny too,” she assured me. “You just need a fatal disease.”
I know, we shouldn’t even joke about stuff like that. But since Ruth’s essay is about laughing her way through cancer (however bitter the laughter), I give us a pass.
Nevertheless, I want to think of something appalling to joke about so I too can date George Clooney. (Since we all know he’s not going to marry Ruth or anything. He’s not the marrying kind. Besides, she already has a famous husband. Really. His research about the benefits of self-disclosure is standard in psychology textbooks. He's a personal hero since the research essentially validates what I do best--writing about myself.)
4 comments:
Damn! Did I forget to tell you? George Clooney and I are now engaged. We're trying to keep it a secret, though. We're both such private people.
Why do you hate me so?
Not so! George and I both consider you to be a very dear friend. It's so nice to know a few down-to-earth, shopworn people out of the Hollywood limelight.
I will do my best to remain unpretentious and beaten down.
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