My beloved is about to head to the dentist for the first time in many years. He’s nervous, and has been peppering me with questions for the last hour. They’re getting increasingly paranoid.
- What if they don’t like my breath?
- What if they tell me to quit smoking?
- What if they don’t believe me when I tell them I floss?
- What if they look up my nose?
- What if they don’t like my haircut?
- What if Nigella Lawson is there? Like, in the corner?
The returning champion on “Jeopardy” — a journalist! — just told her little “meet the contestants” story, about her saving the life of a biker who attempted to beat a train across the track but was knocked on the head by the descending gate.
This is her third night on “Jeopardy.” I have no idea what her other two stories have been, but I can’t quite figure out why she waited to tell this one.
That’s what Jenny McCarthy just told all the ladies watching “Oprah,” to much applause.
OK, Jenny. I’m sure publishers will pay all the ladies in the audience big bucks to write their nonsensical thoughts on marriage and motherhood and autism. It’s just that easy!