Oh, to be rich & famous...

Clearly, I watched too many cartoons as a kid.  Wanna know how I know this?  It's because, as an adult, as I spray my tub with Scrubbing Bubbles Shower Cleaner, I truly expect to see an army of cartoon bubbles whirling over the rings of soap scum, bringing a blinding gleam to the surface below.  And no matter how many times over the years I have sprayed my tub, no matter how many times I have seen, not happy cartoon grime-busters dancing and singing my tub to a shine, but a plain white film sitting & awaiting my scrub-brush and biceps, still I am disappointed.  Still, I expect the Cartoon Clean Team to come flying from the can, armed and ready to attack the filth, with their bristley bottoms and militant might.  Alas, it is up to me and my elbow grease to keep my bathtub clean.  (And what's "elbow grease" all about?  Where did that phrase come from?  My elbows, no matter how hard they may be working, tend to be dry and ashy, requiring a decent dose of Vaseline to keep them in good order.)

Remember those dreams you had as a kid, the dreams of fame and fortune that seemed infinitely impossible yet decidedly deserved?  I used to think that I would know I was famous when one of two things happened:  1)  A rest area (now known as a "service plaza") on the New Jersey Turnpike would bear my name (who is Molly Pitcher anyway?); or 2)  A pinball machine would bear my image (oh, the fun I would be!).   I used to think I would know I was rich when I could afford a driver to take me anywhere at anytime.  (I never expected to find myself sober enough to drive myself to 7-11 at 3am.  Who'da thunk...) Now, I'm not sure how I would measure fame.  But I'd know I was rich if I had someone else's elbow grease scrubbing my soap scum.  And, if I was rich AND famous, maybe someone would create a shower cleaner in my honor, with actual cartoon bubbles doing the work for me.  Meg's Mighty Minions.  That'd be flippin' sweet.