My Little Golden Book of Phobias

I'm already tired. I watched a docu of Dame Margot Fonteyn last night, falling asleep and waking up. She married a ner-do-well from Panama, she ran guns, her Panama husband got shot and was paralyzed forever but she took care of him, she danced until she was very old, much older than any dancer ever could and she fell in love with the impossibly beautiful cheekbones of Nureyev. He was 23, she was 42. She never had any money and was buried as a pauper in Panama.

But what a life.

And Lynn called at eight this morning to tell me there are two ladies in labor so I better get ready for anything today. We have SO MANY women in dates at the moment. We could have a major pile-up. And I'd prefer to lie in the hammock today, sipping margaritas and listening to Beethoven's 5th. I better go get my equipment from the clinic and walk the dawg. If Margot danced on bloody feet, I can be up all night for a few nights with a laboring woman.

Sheesh, what a whiney baby I am.