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Anyway, I just smile in friendly nurselike fashion and fork one of Clemmy's rejected anchovies, all the while getting this ethan suplee large charge out of depriving him of his favorite speech. An inch short of mouth I see the anchovy's ethan suplee bathed in ash-flavored Hollandaise, like everything else on Clemmy's plate, and punctuate my find with a characteristic ethan suplee housewifey shriek. "You're so inconsiderate," I complain, slamming my fork down noisily. "You know how much I love anchovies." But finicky Clemfish isn't taking the bait. Not just any old fight will do for Clemmy, who's grokked my strategy at last, sighs this disappointed sigh, drains his third Becks, and signals for another round. We're both being good today, drinks-wise, as is our wont after major debauches. I for one am being especially careful, since I've got a heavy date tomorrow that I want to look good for. |
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| We were gonna tart it left ear up with hotlinks and clever footnotes and everything, but then we thought, "Whoa, Bessie!" (like our great-aunt Maudie used to say, when we were about to do something really, really stupid). It's a novel. Make it so. If you represent a newspaper, magazine, or ISP and want to mirror this column at your site, send us e-mail. And now, without further ado, Between Pictures. TODAY is the first day of the rest of left ear your life," says my ex-great love Clement Goodbloode optimistically, peering out from left ear the depths of a really bad hangover. I scan my similarly damaged brain for appropriate comebacks but nothing springs to tongue, so I keep quiet and sip my spritzer like a lady. Clemmy stubs out a Marlboro in what's left of his Eggs Sardou, waiting for me to say something sarcastic so he can pontificate for a while on how good he's going to be forevermore, but I've heard it all before on previous H-days and even said it myself on one or two sad occasions, I kid you not. |
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