Cruise Critic

Amelia Johnson 

Let me start out by stating that I’m not a Tom Cruise fan, and I’m not exactly sure how I won this picnic with him, but I am somewhat excited. Not for the actual event of course, but to be able to tell all my friends at bridge about it. Although I am somewhat offended because they probably only awarded me with this activity on account of my age.

Honestly, I don’t think the man is the least bit attractive, my Timothy is much more handsome. Of course, it’s not fair for me to compare anyone to my baby. Tom looks like an oversized ferret, it’s a wonder how he sees out of those squinty little eyes.

And what about his poor child with Katie Holmes? Not only is her name Suri, but she’s also ugly as homemade sin, despite the fact that she was not homemade. Some people need to accept the fact that they’re unable to reproduce and not spend a fortune trying to create a child, maybe there’s a reason it’s possible siblings didn’t want to fertilize each other. I’m no prophet, but I’m sure God was trying to tell Tom something by making it difficult for him to pass on that genetic material.

I mean, he became America’s sexiest man as some kind of sick joke, Garrison Keeler is definitely sexier, judging from his voice.

Luckily this is a picnic I’ve won instead of a dinner date, I can’t imagine if I had to cook dinner for Tom Cruise in my little condominium. I can imagine what would most certainly not be happening though, him jumping on my couch with his shoes on. I don’t tolerate anyone jumping on my couch, but perhaps I could make an exception for him. Of course, he would have to be sock footed and willing to let me photograph.

As I was saying, I’m glad this is a picnic. My first and third husband both once took me on picnic dates, and I think they’re very romantic when you take the necessary precautions to prevent bugs from invading your partner’s food. Which is why I’ll be sure to coat Tom’s sandwich with insecticide, just as I did for my husbands at their final lunches.

My first husband and I had a relatively successful marriage, although he was dreadfully critical of my mothering skills. He always accused me of trying to make our son gay, I can’t help that my son loves high fashion. Besides, I only dressed him like a girl until he started school. This new hoopla about childhood years being so developmental is malarkey, my Timmy is just fine, he did end up gay, but I’m sure that’s completely unrelated.

My second husband and I were much more compatible, we were on the same page regarding all aspects of child rearing. We got together after my late first husband’s death. Timothy was 20 at the time and living at home. I was receiving plenty of insurance money and wanted nothing more than some companionship. Timmy was actually kind enough to search the country for a new mate for his dear old mother. He tells me he received a great deal of help from his friend Craig List but I don’t believe him. I’ve never met this Craig fellow and I have a sneaking suspicion that he doesn’t even exist, my son is so humble.

My new husband only cost me $500, and most of that went to paying for his plane ticket, he came all the way from Sweden just to marry me! We were together for a long time and got along fabulously although the poor man didn’t speak a word of English. In our 7^th year of marriage I caught him in bed with my son and promptly shipped him back to Sweden, Timmy was not very happy with me.

My third husband and I were in the local bowling league together, he started courting me the very first time I attended a meeting. We were only together a few months before his tragic death, but the man still managed to embarrass the pants off of me with his ridiculous behavior. He claimed to have a bit of a drinking problem and one night when my girlfriends were over for poker he showed up in the basement in his birthday suit, obviously intoxicated and babbling about some kind of alcohol related mumbo jumbo. However I didn’t endure the embarrassment of this instance for long because his demise came two short weeks later.