Que Sera Sera

Sick Day Revelations: Some Tips, from Me to You.

1) Do not attempt to watch TV to soothe your cough. You will only end up aggravating every other fiber of your being. In the 17 minutes that I withstood it, I witnessed the following unspeakable horrors:

a) Someone let Queen Latifah have her own talk show. I recall Martin Short and Howie Mandel and that girl from Wilson Phillips who got all of her fat sucked out having one once as well. Did I miss the day they were evidently just handing these out with bags of Cool Ranch Doritos at Target?

b) Do they still make Cool Ranch Doritos? If they don’t, I’m going to feel really old, because I remember when they first came out with them. I even remember the commercial for some reason, which involved some vacant Southwestern adobe in the moonlight and the “sparkles” of Cool Ranch flavor floating in through the windows.

c) This is sad. This part of my brain could be used for so many other purposes, like which direction do you turn your tires when parking on an incline, or when you use “lie” and when you use “lay.” Instead, I remember tortilla chip commercials from 1986.

d) There are about a million commercials announcing that there are now live bunnies at the photo place, so come get your kids’ Easter portraits with them today!!!!!!!!! I wish that instead, there were live tigers. That’s an Easter portrait I could get behind.

e) I don’t even know when Easter is this year. And I don’t recall ever having an Easter portrait. Does this make me a heathen? I do, however, recall several unfortunate Easter hats my grandmother and mother bought me when I was growing up, only they called them “Easter bonnets,” just to sharpen the humiliation, I guess. Who wears bonnets, besides Little Bo Peep and the Amish? Six year old Sarah Brown, that’s who.

f) They weren’t actual bonnets. They were ugly hats with flowers or ribbons on them. I was the Jackie O of the neighborhood come Easter Sunday. Just wanted to clarify.

g) Oh yeah, TV.

h) There is some show called “The View,” wherein four different shaped, sized and colored but equally awful women grill one poor guest (today, the weird guy who kind of looks like Fonzie from Law & Order Special Victims Unit) while they sit around on big overstuffed couches and drink coffee and hoot and act like they’re all on a fucking estrogen drip. Who lets these people represent my gender? They should be taken out to the alley and beaten senseless with cheesecake and Oprah books in hardcover.

i) What time does Sesame Street come on?

j) Not soon enough.

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