"Well, I've been up since 4 and spilled coffee on myself in the car."
My reply: "Oy vey. I can Shout it out for you."
A few minutes later, the next update, more alarming than the last:
"I can't get the top of my Smart Water bottle open."
My reply: "Oh, dear God! Ask a tall, dark and handsome stranger for help. This is an emergency."
Then, 30 minutes later, this:
"Just figured it out. Only took me a half hour. I'm on the aisle with the tiniest person in the middle seat. Ba-bye."
My reply: "Perfect. I knew you could do it. Safe travels!"
And so, today, she's on her way. Again. Cathy Hamilton is officially flying in from Kansas for our big weekend of rehearsals and the staged reading of the show we wrote together -- "Brushes: A Comedy of Hairs." It's my second turn to host her after she's hosted me more times than she probably wants to remember. She's been upgraded to a better room. This one has a TV. And a portion of a cluttered closet has been vacated for her wardrobe. This in itself is a miracle. To welcome her once again to sunny, hot, sweaty Sherman Oaks, I'm blasting the AC and telling Sir Blakey not to jump on her. But you know how he is when it comes to orders.
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