I’m rolling out the long, metaphorical Red Carpet today. I’m putting on my finest, metaphorical black, sequined dinner party gown and getting a metaphorical manicure. I’m slipping on the metaphorical crystal high-heels and draping myself with metaphorical glamour.
Why such metaphorical extravagance?
I’m welcoming a very good friend to the Blogosphere today. If you’ve ever wondered what Cookie Monster, Che Guevara, and Camaron have in common, you can check his blog out here .
With that done, I can now metaphorically remove my glamour.
It was a little too big on me anyway.
(*Update: I realize that, strictly speaking, none of these are really metaphors. But, unfortunately with loss of braincells comes depleted vocabulary and reduced motor skills (for example, I sometimes catch myself accidentally poking myself in the eye and exclaiming "Couch!!".)
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3 comments:
Great! More the merrier!!
Think I've always had a deeply burried eye-patch fetish. Especially if it's accompanied by broad shoulders, a parrot and a rough "aahhrrrr"...
are we talking pirates or swashbucklers?
for the record danny kaye was gay
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