After attending an event where volunteer clowns cheered up the evening, I had the following dream, as background circus music played and moving vans appeared...
Though many showbiz celebrities chose to live in our over 55 communities, the dream revealed our newest neighbors were from the cartoon, comic strip and fairy tale world.
I met Cinderella, recently divorced from her prince with the foot fetish. They split when she refused to wear glass shoes. Turns out, he was CEO of Pyrex and could get them wholesale, so he had a vested interest in her tootsies and those of a few of her hot friends.
She now dates Dr. Scholl's. He explained that glass slippers, unless custom fitted with orthopedic inserts, cause bunions, not Brussels sprouts as she first thought. The prince is now rooming with Betty Crocker and the Pillsbury Dough Boy. Please don't ask!
Another truck brought Peter, Peter, that Pumpkin eater. Don't get me wrong; pumpkin itself is nutritious, but as a home, even in a dream, I guffaw. He put his wife in a pumpkin shell, which happened to be in a co-op, so he could not get a reverse mortgage. While keeping her? I mean really! I am a women's libber and I truly object to this "keeping her" business whether he keeps her "well" or not. It is simply wrong in this day and age, except perhaps at Thanksgiving.
While in sleepy land, I received an email from Goldilocks writing that she wanted to move to our community but didn't have the down payment to qualify.
She now lives in Hollywood over a Chinese restaurant where she grows dill and asked me to meet her for a drink.
When we talked about her past, she revealed, "He was such an animal," referring to her relationship with the papa bear. While she was being reviled because of her indecisiveness, she later sadly, was diagnosed with A.D.D.
Goldie said papa asked her to call him "Big Daddy" at intimate moments, though that is another story for another time., actually never -duh- since she told me the sordid and frankly exciting details that I was sworn to keep confidential as we were getting loopy at the old Brown Derby. To be truthful, I do not remember much except for a deep yearning to walk in the woods or head for the nearest zoo with a bit of honey dabbed behind my ears.
After Brenda Star, Ace Reporter was fired from the newspaper cartoon pages, she moved to a senior community with her mystery man, Basil. It turns out Basil wasn't much of a mystery man after all. His real name is Irving and she was mighty dissappointed to learn the distinguished black patch he wore was for pink eye.
Today, a handsome man moved in next door. He was wearing blue tights. The only man I ever loved in tights was Stewart Granger in the film Scaramouch. I'm sure he loved me, too, though I have not heard from him recently. I wish I could tell him, "The sword wounds have healed nicely."
MY OPINION on Male Tights: No, except if you want to learn the religion of a guy in a hurry. As for shorts: NO, No and No. What is it about older men with bald knees, arthritic joints and gorilla hair that prompt them to believe Bermuda shorts are a turn-on? Perhaps to me, yes, though to other sexy old broads, not so much.
Meeting Red Riding Hood in a consignment store where she was selling her cape and her copy of He's Just Not That Into You, she confided that in the infamous court case she was questioned by a cruel, macho prosecutor.
"Why were you walking in the forest alone? Did you run out of alleys? You do know what the color red indicates, you ignorant slut you." OMG!!!! I hate that.
Speaking of Red, a belated card from Santa insisted that Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer is not an alcoholic, as some have claimed, but simply has a bad case of rosacea! (Gosh, it seems like the fake world has lots of ailments.)
I asked the new neighbor, in those cute tights, his name, and he said he was Superman (that's what they all say) and he sighed that his big "S" had been retired. When he told me he was faster than a speeding bullet (been there done that), I suggested he see a Urologist. Then I slammed the door in his face, "I Don't Get No Satisfaction" is NOT my favorite song, with apologies to fellow Medicare member Mick Jagger.
A banging noise at the door happily but confusingly awakened me. Yes, it was only a dream, but I could not fathom why I was wearing blue tights? Maybe I overdosed on chocolate and went into a coma and simply forgot the why of it.
Oh well... I see it's the cute guy in the brown shirt and great gams delivering a book from Amazon, Gulliver Regrets Traveling with a Senior Group of Formerly Famous Folks. He writes that if he hears the phrase "remember when..." one more time, he is going to climb up a beanstalk and throw water balloons.
Privately though, he regrets even more, disrobing in front of that wicked witch who threw little kids into ovens, who ruined his love life by giving him the name "Tom Thumb.
Written by Jan Marshall 2012
** Jan is the founder of the International Humor and Healing Institute established in 1986. She worked with board members Norman Cousins and Steve Allen as well as prominent physicians in promoting hope and humor in healing. As a long tern cancer survivor, "Jan's Army" acknowledges and sends "Badges of Courage" to other heroes.
Besides being a published author, Jan is the humor columnist for Senior Correspondents and writes satirical essays for several online magazines and newspapers.