Here's a change of pace: I'm taking me to the doctor's today. Overdue for a physical is what I am. Yeah, count me as another one of the geniuses who snapped out of it and called their doctors after Tim Russert dropped dead right there in the newsroom. And seeing as I spend much of my working life (like right now) in the newsroom I'd rather not go out Tim's way, and am hoping for something more along the lines of "shot by a jealous boyfriend at the age of 124."
Besides, as George Burns said, I can't die - I'm booked. It's my responsibility to repeatedly tell my daughter she's the most beautiful creature ever to walk the earth (well, she is) and make megaloud fart noises on my son's tummy.
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