Bless Her Heart

There was a comedian on the radio who was from New Orleans. She said 'you can insult anybody, say any danged thing about them you like, as long as you close the sentence with 'bless her heart,' such as "She must be 150 pounds overweight, bless her heart."

The Great Plotnik just got back from the Department of Motor Vehicles, where he sat on the hard bench next to a man with a cane who never stopped yelling "This is Bulls___!" He was right, but he was a drunken fool, bless his heart.

Plotnik's weekly ball game earlier this morning was no fun either. For the second week in a row he was stuck on a team of people who knew only how to argue. Every shot, every layup, every dribble led to an argument and then another argument. It was like being stuck in a sauna with Johnny Cochran, bless his heart.

Still, when Plotnik got home, the bagels were hot, the cream cheese thick, the tomatoes ripe. Later today, an old friend is getting married. Life is good, very very good. Still, as he writes these words, The Great Plotnik spits over his right shoulder to ward off the evil eye, with a smile towards Grammie Plotnik who taught him how the world really works. Bless her heart.