Inconvenient that blogs are chronological, pushing prior thoughts down so that the sequel is read before the prequel.
Never mind, no one is reading this blog.
So I had this beautiful friend named Laurie Anderson. Not the musician with the spiky hair but a lovely school teacher and neighbor, mother of two girls, and eyes the color of a wolf’s. I was better friends with her before she was diagnosed with cancer, fell out of touch (I feel remorse writing this even now), and then she died. While she was in treatment, I saw her husband on the train and my instinct was to avoid him. More remorse.
“David, hello, how is Laurie?” I said instead.
“She,” he said and then he looked at me in a way that made me feel as if I had said the wrong thing. “She’s not going to survive this cancer, you know.”
There is no right thing to say after this either.
This morning, five years after her death I get an email from Laurie Anderson, or so it seems. In fact, one of those spammy scams had grabbed her contacts and sent a mass email to them with a link to an article about Paula Deen’s remarkable weight loss.
I feel mad at Paula, irrationally, even while knowing she had nothing to do with any of this.
Although there are things to be mad at Paula Deen about, for sure.
And she still looks fat.
