You have to understand one thing about me. I detest reality TV, but I watch it to spend time with my wife and occasionally either one or both of my daughters. It still doesn't change the way I feel, and sometimes they ask me to go into the other room.They're nice about it. It's not like they talk to me like a dog or anything. They don't say this: "Go on! To to your room!" But they do make me understand that they really don't want to know my feelings about men wearing pink boas or whatever or women having had so many facelifts that their forehead looks like the top of a snare drum.
I still have noticed however, that some of them have issues with smiling. The reconstruction is so extensive, that they either look like some large house cat, or they can't smile normally.
With this blog, I seek to recreate what I saw on the Wives of Orange County or whatever the snobby bimbos in LA call themselves.
I wanted to stretch the skin on my face, but I'm like one of those Chinese dogs, and since I don't want to pull back on my ears until they meet at the rear of my head, I figure I'll just have to have those nasty wrinkles--something those women don't have.
In order to recreate the moment seen on TV, I even told myself a joke. It's easy for me, because I've always been able to laugh at my own humor. It's a sign of a healthy self-concept, although my wife once told me it is actually a sign that I'm the only one, who thinks I'm funny.
So I smile, and for a moment, I wish I were in sunny California, not in the sprawling home of a bunch of socialites, but on Main Street Disney.
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