Grey-ish Gardens

It dawned on me today that the stretches I do upon rising are tragically similar to those Big Edie Bouvier Beale did to get her blood moving in Grey Gardens. I am thankful that my bi and tri-ceps have not reached jiggly ham-hock-like proportions, however, having spent so much time in a reclined state I can see how one could become as accustomed to this as Henry Higgins was to Eliza Doolittle’s face. (OK that was really corny but I’m leaving it in.) I never got to see the Broadway showed based on the original Grey Gardens film, but my friend who did told me there was a show stopping musical number called Jerry Likes My Corn. In the film Big Edie cooks Jerry the handyman a perfect ear of corn right there in her bed on her hot plate surrounded by stinky ferile cats and her schizophrenic daughter Little Edie. When I awoke today I honestly thought how lovely it would be to reach over and have my coffee pot right here at my bedside, but unlike Big Edie I don’t have one of those clever little dorm room refrigerators where I would keep my necessary creamer. I have started to use the word clever quite a bit – must be all those Jane Austen films.

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