A mere hour and 17 minutes after I revealed the shocking truth that I do not know how to fold a bottom sheet, my ever-attentive and gallant friend, Grettir, forwarded me a link describing what I thought would be a surefire way to rescue me from further undue social ostracism. “How To Fold A Fitted Sheet!” I exclaimed, touching my screen with tentative joy that soon manifested itself in jubilant tears not unlike those that poured copiously from Helen Keller’s eyes when Annie Sullivan held one of her hands under cool running water while spelling W-A-T-E-R in the other.
Alas, the tears quickly changed from those of exuberance to those of exasperation, when, despite trying to follow the steps Martha Stewart so simply laid out, I failed miserably. Here is the result of my bottom sheet folding attempt:
I comforted myself with the knowledge that after all my worrying that Christopher Walken would think I didn’t care enough about him to show up outside ABC Studios, I didn’t miss him after all. Turns out his segment on “Live [misnomer] With Regis and Kelly” was pre-recorded. But apparently he was in the city anyway, because after my misfortune with the belligerent bottom sheet, I was outside taking up cigarette-smoking in order to relieve the incredible stress, and who should be sauntering down my block but the weird one himself. I quickly swallowed my cigarette the way the cool kidz do. “I like what I see,” he said, taking me in with his unblinking eyes. “May I?” he said, indicating the front door to my building.
And that’s where my story ends. (Sorry. If you’re looking for more details, you’d better just keep on Walken.) (LOL!)