Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Cover the mirrors...

flu.
too sick to knit.
call the undertaker.
i want a wicker casket.
wrap me in plain cotton shroud,
drop the box in a hole and fill it in.
would someone make kugel for shiva?

4 comments:

Franklin said...

Oh please, Mary. Don't get all Alice Faye on us. Take some NyQuil and suck it up.

;-P

Aidan said...

Alice Faye? (huffing indignantly)
Alice Faye? (still huffing -- only louder)

If I must be compared to anyone, I'd rather it be Garbo's Marguerite.

"I'll keep it but I won't read it. I don't like sad thoughts. However, we all die, so perhaps this will be sold again someday at an auction after my death."

OR maybe Jennifer Jones' Bernadette. "Perhaps I haven't suffered enough."

Or maybe my mother. "Before you leave for the emergency room, would you get me my dexadrine and a fresh brandy? And don't get blood on the rug."

meg said...

isn't this one of those occasions that calls for chicken soup?

Brenda Dayne said...

Poor you! Man Flu is the worst. Not that I've ever actually had it, mind. I mean, I can't, obviously, because I'm a woman, and when women get it, it's called a cold. But every man I've ever known has been stricken with it, at one time or another, and it looks like utter hell.

Except that, no, that's not quite right either because it doesn't really look like hell. In all honesty it looks just like a cold. But we, women I mean, well we hear it's hell. Oh yeah. Boy do we hear about it.

Get well soon, sweetie.