When a TV host welcomes you on a show, why not respond naturally with just a plain “thank you,” or “nice to be here” or “great to be with you” or with simply “my pleasure.”
You wouldn’t say to your host at a cocktail party “thank you for having me” or you’d sound like an alien who just landed.
To me, that hackneyed phrase is the same as saying tearfully “I’ve been turned down, rejected so many times . . . you’re the only TV host brave enough, kind enough to invite me on. So from the bottom of my heart . . . thank you for having me.”
Another thing that bugs me is that slow-motion battlefield, the supermarket parking lot.
There you’ll find ancient gladiators who should have been carried out of the ring, but are still driving cars.
So today I’m waiting patiently for this older gentlemen to retire from his parking space so I could park there.
So what does he do? Without even looking, he waves me to go by.
No! Sir, I don’t want to go by. I’m stopped here with my directional signal blinking waiting for your damn spot. So out damn spot!
No, he wants me to go by as he’s leaving.
This very stale mate lasts for almost a minute that seems like a half hour until he finally realizes I want his space for it’s a scientific fact that two cars cannot occupy the same space.
So ever so slowly and carefully, off he goes. As I pull in and park, I’m saying under my breath: “thank you for having me . . . wait so long.
Now please don’t wait so long to buy my latest book, “Is there enough Brady in Trump to win the inSUPERable BOWL?” parked on Amazon.