Footsteps. I can’t use that word without thinking of Kenneth Mars’s line from Young Frankenstein, “Bootshteps, bootshteps!”
My parents don’t email me. They forward damn near everything to me: racist jokes, rightwing diatribes, pyramid schemes, chain-emails, pro-Israel screeds. And they’re not racists, wingnuts, idiots, or blind supporters of Israel. I wonder if my dad even reads these things before he hits the forward button.
Don’t get me wrong. I don’t mind if you folks send me funny emails . . . and in fact, if they’re good enough, I might even immortalize them on their very own page, as I did with Lyvvie’s email. Now, that’s a funny email.
PS: the very demented and pregnant Michelle is having a book giveaway for Succubus Blues. Check it out.