This little gem has been making the rounds lately, so I can make no claims to originality in featuring it; it's just that it is, after all, the first of this lovely month, and it makes me laugh like few other clips.
After I finish laughing, I should add, I am left with nothing but admiration for valiant Miss Leslie Uggams, who soldiered on despite suffering the kind of performance disaster that would utterly fell a lesser mortal. Apparently, she was promised a cue card man, who slipped on wet grass and scrambled out of the way, leaving her roundly in the lurch on national television. We should all show such grace under fire.
That's something on my mind at the moment, perhaps, because tomorrow is the big day: my unexpected and enforced "vacation" of sorts, you see, is at an end, and I shall be returning to the salt mines down at Golden Handcuffs come tomorrow morning. I suppose it's a good thing, if only because it does signify something about my steadily improving state of health, but goodness I've enjoyed being at home, the whole heart business aside. Clearly, I'm going to be a marvelous retiree in the not-too-distant future.
In preparation, I spent a large chunk of this afternoon surveying my wardrobe and trying not to alternately snicker and weep as I did so. In the past three months I've shed something on the order of 40 pounds, and as happenstance would have it, back in January I went on a suit-buying binge of sorts that was - terribly unfortunately from June's perspective - accompanied by a thorough ridding-out that saw a large part of my then-business-clothing sent off to a charity that helps dress men in need (they'd have to be to want my old suits, but that's another matter). As a result, looking in the mirror, I realized that I looked less dressed for a fast-paced international consultancy than as if I were contemplating taking up a career as a David Byrne impersonator. Finally, in the back of the coat closet I found an old blazer from which I've been meaning to snip the (very nice gold college-alumni) buttons for many years, and it looks like that's going to be my staple until I get to a tailor. Thank heaven for procrastination, no?
As I still have a way to go before the various medical professionals will be satisfied, I'm rather wishing there were some sort of drawstring technology that could be called upon in the interim, but I suppose the results would be almost as curious and unsatisfactory as being Byrnean is comic.
In my (imminently far less abundant) spare moments, I've been trying to come up with an encouraging little speech to deliver to my team, who have by all accounts gone on quite brilliantly in my absence under the guidance of my extremely long-suffering deputy. Mostly, I want them to know I'm likely to be cranky, which won't really come as an any surprise, but also that I don't want to be treated as if I were made of one of your more fragile porcelains, even though at the same time for God's sake don't try to hug me (that's only happened once so far, unexpectedly, and suffice it to say it was not a success). As several of our clerico-administrative types (one daren't say secretary anymore, of course) are demonstrative ladies of a certain age and type, this will be important information, as will a tactful reminder that I will no longer be participating in the weekly Friday morning cake-and-pastries orgies that are such a feature of our unit but it doesn't mean I love them any less (the
So there we are; while I still feel far from fully normal, I've come a vast distance in the past few months. I only hope I can summon a measure of Miss Uggams' matchless aplomb as I putter forward on my way.
And how's your June, June, June, JUNE shaping up?