Well, I just got off the phone with Miss J. who is sick with the flu and so is not coming down to see my fabulous theatrical reading of cooter facts, both good and bad.
This brings the sum total of people I know who are coming to see me in The Vagina Monologues to 0.
It’s kind of funny in a really pathetic way.
Okay, no. It’s very funny.
I mean, it’s not so funny for The Vagina Monologues, which is a fund-raiser for an actual good and helpful charity and so, you know, could use the ticket sales.
But funny for me in a humbling way. Even with promises of cooter talk and my good bra, I could not talk one person who knows me in real life into spending a fabulous evening at the theater.
Yep. I suck.
Well, shit. Maybe if I buy a ticket for the Butcher, he’ll come. I mean, he’s got to be over on that side of town anyway, because he’ll have to give me a ride home.
And yes, that would be really funny, too, if it weren’t happening to me.