Q & A
with Mrs. Varmighan
with Mrs. Varmighan
When you first saw EE naked, did you faint or throw up?
I have to admit I threw up. But I should explain. I had dropped by his house to pick up some manuscripts he wanted burned, and when he didn't answer my knock I went in. Suddenly the eggplant Parmesan and chef's salad I'd had for dinner decided they didn't want to stay down, so I ran for the bathroom. Turned out EE was sitting on the commode reading query letters in the nude. You should have seen the look on his face when I burst through the door and blew chunks all over him. Priceless.
Whenever I'm lost in sadness or just plain doubt of all my life, I wonder what the meaning of didactic existentialism is, as presented in Camus novels and contrasted with Nietzsche's thoughts of man and superman. I find it helps me gain a new outlook on life. What do you and EE do when the world looks to be against you?
EE orders a dozen hot doughnuts from the bakery in our building. He lets me have first choice! (Which is always the dark chocolate glazed one with raspberry filling.) And he eats the other eleven.
Was your hair styled by the same guys responsible for the zero grav training facilities at NASA? It's like the leaning tower of Pisa — or some crazy, crazy stuntman-cum-acrobat!
Glad you like it. I used to wear my hair longer, as you can see in this photo taken at my wedding reception. The late Mr. Varmighan isn't in the photo, as he died in the limo taking us from the church to the reception hall. I tried to tell him limo sex would be too much for a guy with a bad ticker. Poor guy never got to find out, as he checked into the Dirt Nap Hotel soon as I gave him a glimpse of my cleavage. Lucky for me Evil Editor offered to fill in, or I'd have been doing my first dance with a broomstick.
Anyway, when Marge Simpson came along, I didn't like my hairdo being compared to hers, which is, let's face it, almost cartoonish. So I lopped off the top three fourths. Which required a chain saw, partly because of all the hairspray, but mostly because I was carrying a 31-inch Louisville Slugger in there for protection. Now that I'm wearing it shorter, all I have in there is a can of mace. Oh, and a pack of Twinkies for emergencies.
Unfortunately, now everyone compares me to this chick, which is a joke, because my hair is perfectly permed and she looks like she's been electrocuted or something. No way she gets a comb or a brush through that wasp's nest.
What time do you start work? Does the Evilness wear boxers or those little red thongy things? What do you prefer for lunch? Salad or tuna on toasted whole wheat and does his Lordship allow you time to eat while he snoozes on his blood red leather couch? Have you ever gotten angry and snapped his suspenders? How many times should I submit my manuscript before I give up? Also, can you comment on the market for obnoxious fairies at the moment? Hopeless? Should I give up and go for occluded payphones?
Here's a tip, hon: lay off the caffeine.