I write a monthly humor column for a small, local magazine in South Dakota (yeah, the big time!). My most recent column was the same as the first post in this blog, "Meet My New Roomie." The column just before that was about how I had officially broken up with Tom Cruise -- who had been my imaginary boyfriend for about 15 years -- because he's recently gone crazy. Yesterday, I got this e-mail from my editor:
Get this: some crazy guy called in yesterday, and Jacqueline took the call. He wanted to talk all about you and your columns,which he reads regularly and enjoys. But he's wondering why you didn't share the fact that you have cancer earlier ... maybe you don't really have cancer, he thinks, because otherwise you should have written about it sooner. And he thinks that you ended your crush on Tom Cruise not because he's a crazy Scientologist who knocked up Katie Holmes and jumps on couches, but because you realized you'd never get to date him because you have cancer. Alrighty then, Mr. Crackpot. Oh, and Jacqueline thought he might've been a little drunk because he was slurring his words a lot.
Wow. A lot of horrible things have passed through my head since the diagnosis, but I never stopped to contemplate the most grim reality of all: TOM CRUISE WILL NEVER DATE ME NOW!! I'm not sure how I'll go on. Thanks a lot, Crazy Drunk Man!
What about Ewan McGregor? Do you think he digs cancer chicks?