Ever since I was a little kid, I thought that was a funny line. You have to imagine that being said after one has sucked in helium and followed by, "Take me to your leader." It seems as if I have actually fallen off the planet, but I'm back. If even for a short visit.
I have a confession that I'm very leery on sharing. A small explanation for my disappearance (besides the fact that I was kidnapped by aliens and used as a scientific experiment.) I have been fighting "stinkin' thinkin'" which has gone beyond stinkin' thinkin' and classified as depression. I'm not the kind that usually advertises my problems because there is no market for them. The thing with depression is you don't really have a problem, per se, which makes you feel even worse for feeling the way you do.
In desperation of better feelings, I thought I would try tanning (or fake baking) at a local tanning joint. I'm not one who likes to tan - even naturally. I tanned about seven years ago when we went on a cruise in the middle of February and I didn't want to burn.
I've decided something even more awkward than standing in line at the Bishop's office is standing in line for a tanning bed. You don't want to make eye contact. When you do make eye contact with a person leaving you think, "Ew. Their butt sweat is on the bed I'm going to lie on." I know, they "sanitize" the beds but I sanitize mine again when I'm in there in case they missed a spot.
As I'm laying there I think about - wait. Awkward. I better be careful what I write here. My BFF, Karen, says she would like to tan but doesn't like basting in her own juices. So that makes me think about turkey which makes me think about chicken which makes me think about chicken knuckles falling off which makes me think about this. Then I wonder if that man I saw walking out of a tanning room earlier (Ew - guy butt sweat) was a policeman because I can smell bacon!!! Just kidding. Honestly, there is no occupation I have more respect for. But I did smell bacon and I did think that and I'm very sorry. And I laughed as I lay by myself in the broiler. Then I think about a song and try to refrain from singing. I always have a song in my head and I'm convinced I'm a perpetual musical.
Then I think how I'm in the buff and I'm getting a tan where the sun doesn't naturally shine. That makes me think of smokin' crack. I don't know why. I've never smoked crack. Probably because I can hear some cracklin' noises and wonder how much fat I'm burning off. Then I think of my son (and National Underwear Day) who stopped into my work today to say hi. Then I think of my daughter who wants to be in a pageant this summer because I hope she doesn't want to tan because it's so bad for your skin. Then I think of my other daughter who has freckles on her cute little nose because she plays in the sun, which is so bad for your skin.
Suddenly, I'm feeling much better. I thought my husband only paid for a month, which I was happy with (or as happy as you could be with depression.) Obviously my husband thinks I needed the light therapy because he actually signed me up for two months which should bring me into summer. Now I'm really upset with him because he must think I'm hard to live with and that's why he paid for two months. Now I'm depressed again, which reminds me of chocolate which reminds me of peanut butter which reminds me of the road to Heaven. Then I'm happy again.