Sure I am a Bombeckian, and I'm darned proud of it, too. Why that
woman made more money with her writing than the editors of the New
York Times and Washington Post combined. She could make a lamp post
look funny to the rest of us, and laugh all the way to Phoenix Savings
and Loan. Why, she was likened to a male rat once. A male rat that
ran all the females for all the other boys in the maze. I'm talking
fists full of little rat dollars here.
And she didn't need any of that Viagra to get her goin' either. Just
her mind and her wit. She could make doing the laundry or mowing the
lawn a happy chore. But watch out if you were one of her kids or her
neighbors. You might read about yourself in her twice weekly.
And, now that the dear old gal is gone, we all wanna replace her. But
none of us will. Ya know why? Because that Giant Editor in the Sky
sees fit not to.
No, gone forever is the trusty Barco-lounger covered in the fake sheep
skin. The frumpy house dress, always worn with pearls. And the bits
of wisdom she dispensed with a smile while we all worried about the
nukes on a tiny island next door.
She lifted our hearts and our minds. She took us places like
Albuquerque. Heck most of us couldn't even spell it, little own find
it on a map. She enlightened us about her world, which opened ours up
just a bit more. Lining up to buy the paper on her publishing days
was an event for the whole community, not something you groused about,
unless the news stand ran out too soon. Then you cornered some guy
and paid him twice as much for the second section as he paid for the
entire paper, just to read her latest.
No, young un's, sorry if you don't understand or relate to her brand,
but that don't mean we can't get along. Contrary to current opinion,
we can learn. And, this old dog still has a few tricks left to learn.
Now, I'll meet you out back by the wood pile. If ya can't teach me
anything new, you better be prepared for a whoppin'.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment