Regrettably, I, Portman Doe, purveyoress of queer housewife wisdom, have not been doing well. Things started out fine. I began my day by donating my time to a charitable cause. My friends have a new yacht and needed company on the water. I obliged despite the havoc on my tresses. A lesson for you, housewives: always consider putting others’ maritime needs ahead of yours. It’s invigorating knowing you are helping others in need.
Obviously, when I got home from our outing, I needed to get on with my day. I popped in a Billy Blanks Tae Bo DVD. (Do I need a high-cut leotard? Yes. Yes, I do.) Halfway through the upper-cut scene, I stood up from the sofa to fix a myself a drink and wrenched my back. Terrible spasms. I couldn’t move. My wife Kit gave me an over-the-counter muscle relaxant, which brings me to the purpose of my writing today.
I would like to take this opportunity to caution you to the mixing of muscle relaxants and gin martinis. Is there any warning on the bottle about mixing martinis with this pharmaceutical product? No. Is there any mention of the word “cocktail” in the accompanying reading materials? No. What’s worse is that the gimlet I had next didn’t seem to have any counteracting effect except to make me finally understand that song by the Weeknd. Previously, I had thought the song was about the aftereffects of Botox, but no. Clearly, the government needs to require companies to be more specific in regards to what one should consume while on muscle relaxants. Next time: brandy only.
And now I have to tell my wife that I’m sorry. I cannot operate heavy machinery this evening.