THE WINK EFFECT

I promised myself this week I wouldn't make another Palin joke.  

Call it a Rosh Hash resolution.

The reasons for this pledge are aplenty,  Highlights include: 

1.My brain has turned into a 24 hour Palin pun generator, leaving my other obsessions to suffer.  

2.Making fun of her ever rising bouffant, her sexy librarian style glasses, her rumored tattooed on lip liner- no matter how much I disagree with her politics- is no better than  using Hillary's pantsuit as a punchline.

HOWEVER.

I've rationalized that this isn't a comedy bit.  It's an observation.  It's a cautionary tale.

It happened last night. I was, once again, reprising the thankless role of sultry benchwench at Malachy's on 72nd street.  My interpretation of the part is an amalgam of Carla and Diane from Cheers, with a dash of Mae West, if you don't like dirty Irish bars or get uptown much. Thank God I went to acting school.

I noticed, as I delivered teeming pints of Bud, sloppy oozing pitchers of Stella, cleared decimated baskets of cheese fries, and most importantly, dropped checks, that I was winking.  

A lot.

It appears that I've subconsciously incorporated this bit of visual punctuation into my cocktailer schtick.  This is, no doubt, Sarah Palin's influence/fault.

"Here ya go boys.  These ones are on me."  WINK

"Two shots of Jaeger.  Did ya know my middle name is Yeager?"  WINK

"Corned beef on rye?  You betcha."  WINK. 

I look forward to November 5th, when hopefully I can have my brain back.  Or at least part of it.

WINK.