Benign. Benign. Benign.
I think I'd like to write a poem titled, "Benign".
Roses are red
Seven eight nine
The Boobie Doctor called
The spots are Benign.
I think I'd like to put together a tap dance routine using my world famous fire batons and an assortment of spangles and spell the word Benign in Morse Code with my red tap shoes.
I'm totally doing that right now...while typing this... because I'm just that good at it.
I think I'd like to get Mr. Man's nose hair clippers and shave the word Benign on my Yorkie.
Now it looks like my dog's name is Ben 'cause he's really little.
I think I'd like to call up everyone I know and tell them I'm not going to be cremated next week as previously planned so they can go ahead and make other plans.
The evil red-headed Berta Lou said even though I'll still be alive, I can go ahead and come to my wake at her house this weekend anyway. I had to promise to be very quiet though.
I'm happy, ya'll. Crazy, stupid, bordering on slightly frightening, happy.
Thank you all, sweet strangers, for your emails of support and kind words. And thank you for all the good boobie vibes.
Copyright © 2004-2006, Sherri Bailey
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