Some Rest For The Wicked

Lest I end the week the same way I began it -- by being a snarky bitch -- I'm taking this moment to call upon you, dear reader, to do something good. I, myself, will willingly oblige the one request although I am unable to do the other.

Don't breathe a sigh of relief just yet. I haven't grown a heart of gold.

No.

I am still on my proverbial broomstick, conjuring and conspiring. But I have landed for the evening and am in my bed right now -- blogging before bedtime. You see, I have to be up at 5 A.M. to zip downtown for the Komen Race For The Cure.

It's an early wake up call, for sure. The crack of dawn usually finds me just strolling home, but tomorrow I'm strolling out to do my part to salute the women who have survived breast cancer and honor those we've lost.

If you'd like to sleep in, you can still donate here.

My last request is that even if you're too broke to take a flight, pay for gas or make the call, 1-800-COLLECT will let you reach out and give a shout out to your Big-Daddy-Papa on Sunday.

This is always a hard holiday weekend for me, but I delight in knowing that if your dad's still around, he'll be happy to hear your voice and you'll be just a little better off telling him you love him.

Sweet dreams. Bed Bugs. Goodnight.