I never liked Sandy. Rizzo was my kind of gal. Instead of awakening a love for musical theatre, Grease awoke the calculating bitch in me. So, Sandy, Danny, thank you, but your summer loving can go suck an egg.
My summer loving looks like so:
Slap on a floppy hat, Jackie O's, neckkerchief, and turquoise jewelry, then laze on the beach sweating with the tourists and glaring at the horizon, hoping it stirs up a breeze. Yes, even in my daydreams I am ill-tempered and mildly ornery.
Pardon me while I gaze wistfully out the window.
No comments:
Post a Comment