Thomas Friedman is on vacation.
Maybe people saw that in the paper? Maybe they thought, "Thank God, Bettina gets a break?"
No break for me.
Thomas Friedman doesn't work that hard to begin with and vacation just means more "Prune me, Bettina!" More shorty robe. More whining. More griping.
His big concern is that he's blocked. That's why he's taken the vacation. He feels he's blocked. He can't think anymore.
I don't see why that requires a vacation because it's not like thought was required for him to write any of those columns.
He's in a real panic because he's blocked in other ways too.
The only thing worse than his lack of bowel movements is that I have to hear constantly about it.
"Bettina, it's been three days!"
I keep wishing that Mrs. K was around when he says that because I picture her smiling sweetly and saying, "Why Thomas Friedman, you're full of crap."
She could get away with it because he likes her. If I said it, he'd either go into one of his Bette Davis routines or burst into sobs and whines.
"What a dump!"
That's probably what he'll say, eyes popping and hand waving, when he finally does have a bowel movement.
I wish he wouldn't use my tampons as prop cigarettes when he goes into his Bette Davis routine.
I asked him kindly to stop doing that and he just glared at me so I'm guessing that's a no.
Last night, I had the weirdest dream. I was seven and sitting in front of a TV on a Friday night watching something called Boy Meets World. Now how could that be? Ever since I stopped taking my vitamins, I've started having the strangest dreams.
It's almost like, wait, there he goes again. There's never a vacation for me and it's only twice as much work when he's on vacation.
