Sometimes I think I could have led the life of a stand up comedian. Well, not really because I hate auditions and rejection and living on rice and beans. But if I liked those things, then maybe. Sometimes I come up with comedy routines. Bits if you will. Last night, I watched a movie preview where Owen Wilson (funny) accused another gentleman of being a pseudo intellectual. Is that irony at it’s finest? He used a mamby pamby ten dollar word to say that guy likes to be fake smart. This would be my opener. Then I would talk about being a housewife and the things that make me territorial. Namely, the dirt on the kitchen floor. Why does it happen that we hate dirt and crumbs on the kitchen floor: AARGH!! CRUMBS. ON THE FLOOR!! STUCK TO MY SOCKS! WHY WON’T SOMEONE SWEEP! Then we sweep, and suddenly we are the dirt’s body guard. This dirt, now that it’s gathered, is our most precious commodity: AARGH!! WATCH OUT FOR MY DIRT!! DON’T WALK THROUGH MY DIRT!! YOU ARE MESSING WITH MY DIRT. PRETTY SOON IT’S JUST GOING TO BE ALL SPREAD OUT DIRT. MEANINGLESS TO ME. NOTHING. JUST LET ME HAVE THIS!!! I have done it. I have listened to my husband do it. My mother, my brother, friends, and probably anyone with a broom. Thank you very much. I am here all week.