Moonbeams

I told a friend on Facebook last night that I was probably on some people's "Do Not Meet and Greet" list for my 30th high school reunion after yesterday's post. But, so far on Facebook, those attending seem determined to discuss politics. If that is all they have to discuss after not seeing each other for 30 years, then I don't want to talk to them either. They have lived in vain. Just sayin'.

The therapy session went well, as always. I just can't lose on that score. I have had two therapists in my life, and I have won both times. Ted was elegant, expensive, and gifted, and Vinnie is elegant, gifted and funded by the United Way, bless their souls.

I even told Vinnie what my fantasy life is like. You know, the world I live in when this one is too much. He told me that it was good to have one, but I don't think I'm supposed to live in one ALL the time. I can do it, it just makes me seem very absent minded.

Onto old news, Prince Harry, third in line to the throne, got caught in Vegas playing strip billiards. The picture shows him quite naked, holding the royal jewels. His fan page had this to say, "Why didn't his guard detail confiscate all cell phones?" Which is an upside down look at it, but as Douglas Adams says, the universe does not need a sense of perspective.

What happens in Vegas does not stay in Vegas, apparently. And yes, I am a Royal watcher. It just seems so much more dignified than buying that magazine with J Lo on the cover. You know which one I mean. One wonders if therapists are available to the Royals.

Or maybe they have pets. I love corgis, having a corgi mix myself, but you never see Charles, or William, etc. with any dogs or cats. I think, as punishment, Harry should be locked into a room with a good, fat British shorthair cat. It will solve all his problems, and then the media will be deluged with photos of Harry with moonbeams shooting out his royal arse.

And with that graphic picture still in your head, I will leave you until tomorrow. Adieu.