“Write a blog!” people tell me. “It would be HIL-AR-IOUS!” I’m often told I’m funny, though I suspect they generally mean it in the “curious; strange; peculiar; odd” sense of the word. Woody Allen once said, “I think being funny is not anyone’s first choice.” I can’t help wondering what his first choice would be.
I suppose I’m content to be funny, in any sense of the word.
Things you should know about me from the outset:
- I am the perfect stereotype of the middle-aged catlady: single, slightly plump (working on that!), bespectacled, surrounded by felines (only two … so far) and feline-related memorabilia. I also share my modest, central Minnesota home with my 88-year-old mother. She is in better shape than I am.
- My leisure hours are spent pursuing quaint, spinsterish hobbies like growing petunias and making cross-stitch pictures, usually of cats.
- I possess an extraordinary – unnerving, really – number of wigs for a person with a full head of hair.
- Ditto for vintage hats, which I don’t wear but like to look at. And dozens of cookbooks, though I rarely pull out a saucepan.
- I collect cat-shaped teapots. And figurines. And articles of clothing with cats on them. (See catlady stereotype above.)
- I make my living pimping beer bread.
- I used to act in community theatricals, until I started being cast as dour matrons instead of bright young ingenues. My last role was a lady wrestler. Who was dead.
- I am not growing old gracefully, but I am growing gray oldfully.
That is perhaps as much self-disclosure as anyone can stand for the moment. If I can think of things to say about my life in the spinsterhood, I will update this blog regularly. More likely, you’ll never hear from me again.