Well, I fumbled through yesterday like a real champ. Embarrassing myself only a handful of times, turning a ghastly shade of pink only once and playing the dithering idiot slightly less than a dozen, I did indeed survive. Unfortunately, survival is often ugly… that’s something they never tell you, isn’t it?
The psychiatrically compromised, shall we say, rarely emerge from the fiery battle riding a white steed and holding the flag of lunacy high and proud.
Picture us instead leading a lame donkey out of the fog of war, muddied to our armpits, dazed, confused and sodding useless until we stop quaking like a leaf and have a proper nap.
But make no mistake, our sense of triumph is indeed there…. The fact that we must drag it out of the bloody battle in the form of a battered ass is only apropos.
Chloe and her scuffed-up mule