Last night, I put up my Christmas lights. All by myself. Kim, the Cat, helped. Please understand that “helping” means meowing loudly because I moved her precious ottoman and attempting to knock me off the stepladder. “Help! My cat is trying to murder me, and I can’t get up!”
On paper I should be a catch. I’m pretty cute in that I possess a pleasing combination of Type II Diabetes and facial hair that appeals to certain niches of the gay community, your Bears and what-not. I have a wonderful sense of decor –as long as I don’t move ottomans. Plus, I’m really funny and charming once you get to know me.
Key phrase: Once you get to know me. Before that, you must swim a moat of alligators that have a look on their face like they’re trying to digest old string cheese. Continue reading