Dear Fran Drescher #28
Sunday morning, I woke up at 3:30. Three hours of sleep doesn’t cut it, especially when you have to play for praise team at church the same day.
I hopped out of bed, and I do mean hopped. I felt like the Energizer Bunny. I high-tailed it (oh my goodness, stop with the puns already) out to the living room and began my night of frenzied activity.
I brought the new puppy out for his morning poopie; took some photos of the sunrise; took out some hamburger to thaw for lunch, made a list of 42 items that I needed to do in the gardens; fed all four pets, worked on my laptop for 45 minutes; figured out how to do folders on my new iPhone; watered a houseplant; checked the status of a friend’s son on Facebook: he just had major brain surgery; cleaned up half of the laundry room; charged my phone; charged my laptop; loaded the dishwasher; ran the dishwasher; sent a Facebook message to a friend; made a new mileage folder on my phone; tied up the new puppy because he was chewing on a tennis shoe; took my fiber; tweezed my eyebrows; took a bath…
I know there was more, but this is all that I can recall.
Someone: Stop. The. Madness.
I sat on the couch trying to calm myself and chuckled when I thought of the scenario that would likely take place when I got to church to play with the band.
Two little old ladies would be sitting in the pews. One would turn to the other and say, “Hey, Betsy, do you think that piano player is on crack? She seems awful hyper.”
“Well, I don’t know, Gertrude. I didn’t think she was the type but now that you say that, she is kind of bouncing all over that piano bench. Do you think we should talk to the council of the church and report her?”
I hope you continue to be my best friend.
Best friends always,
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