Bradley Cooper

Oxygen

By Lisa Scottoline

I’m writing this in the middle of the night.

And here’s why.

Steroids.

I’m not complaining.

I’m recommending.

Let me explain.

We begin two months ago when I develop a head cold and can’t shake it. On book tour, I can’t even hug people and that’s the reason I write books.

By the way, it’s not Covid.

I’m still a Covid virgin.

You think I’m lucky?

You never met Thing Two.

So I called my doctor and he refers me to an specialist, whom I go see.

He looks up my nose and says it’s “frothy.”

Froth does not belong in your nose.

It belongs in your cappuccino.

And now I’ll never drink cappuccino again.

The specialist diagnoses a sinus infection and prescribes an antibiotic and steroids.

Thus changing my life.

I don’t understand how I could go from feeling so bad in the morning to feeling so good at night. In fact, I could paint your house.

If you want, I’ll be right over.

I’ve never felt this good in my life.

I don’t know why I can’t live on steroids.

Maybe I’ll grow big muscles, but that’s not the worst thing in return for feeling like you could run the world.

Should I give it a try?

After I paint your house?

I’m happy I’m cured because I’m a bad patient. All I did was complain. In my defense, I live alone. So I was talking to dogs.

But I was extremely profane.

Somebody needs to explain to me the science of steroids.

Are these the same steroids that make people hit baseballs into the next state?

I think they’re different because you inject those steroids in your butt.

Or maybe that’s testosterone.

And maybe you inject it somewhere else.

All I know is now I have two working nostrils, one on each side. I’m breathing like a champ. I’m pretty sure I’m using up all the oxygen in the universe.

Please be careful.

Don’t exert yourself.

You’re only left with nitrogen or whatever.

The other weird thing about steroids is the dosage. You take six pills in a one day, then five, then four, you get the idea. I’ve never in my life taken five of the same pill one day.

Now I want six hundred.

This is why I don’t do drugs.

The only drug I do is chocolate.

That’s why I don’t buy chocolate cake.

Now I won’t buy steroids.

I have no portion control when it comes to steroids.

I’m gonna grow chin hair, but what else is new?

Plus I can write in the middle of the night. By the way, I apologize for not writing new pieces lately, but I’m on book deadline and my nose is frothy.

Now all I have to do is fall asleep.

I’ve been trying for four hours and I’ll succeed in four days.

Meantime I’ll mow the lawn, wash the car, and run the world.

I think I could run it better.

In my world, everybody would be nice and all waistbands would be elastic.

We’d clean up the Earth, the sea, and our bra drawer.

There would be shows on Netflix we haven’t seen already.

Books would never be burned, but Spanx would.

There would be a price cap on prescription drugs and highlights.

Salted caramels would fall from the sky.

Bradley Cooper would be my husband.

The Supreme Court would have the ethical obligations of a traffic court.

Trials would be televised because we saw everything on Netflix. Also, justice.

That would just be my first day on the job.

Mine would be a government on steroids, literally.

Either that or I’m coming over.

Say when.

© Lisa Scottoline 2024

Column Classic: Lift and Separate

By Lisa Scottoline

Once again, you’ve come to the right place.

If you read this, you’re going to LOL.

But this time, I can’t take the credit.

Sometimes the world hands you an ace. All you have to do is set it down on the table and play.

I’m talking, of course, about the Smart Bra.

Have you heard about this? If not, I’m here to tell you that at the recent consumer electronics show, a Canadian tech company introduced a Smart Bra, which is a bra that is smarter than you are.

Or at least smarter than your breasts.

Microsoft is reportedly developing a Smart Bra, too, and I’m sure the other tech companies will follow suit.

Or maybe bra.

If it creeps you out that the male-dominated tech industry is thinking about what’s under your shirt, raise your hand.

Just don’t raise it very fast.

They’re watching you jiggle.

Bottom line, the Smart Bras contain sensors that supposed to record your “biometric data” and send it to an app on your mobile device.

It’s a fitbit for your breasts.

Or a fittit.

Sorry, I know that’s rude, but I couldn’t resist.

Like I said, the world handed me an ace.

Anyway, to stay on point, the biometric data it monitors is your heart rate and respiration rate, but Microsoft has taken that a step further. According to CNN, their Smart Bra is embedded with “psychological sensors that seek to monitor a woman’s heart activity to track her emotional moods and combat overeating.” In fact, their “sensors can signal the wearer’s smartphone, which then flash a warning message to help her step away from the fridge and make better diet decisions.”

Isn’t that a great idea?

It’s a bra that tells on you when you’re hitting the chocolate cake.

Forgive me if I’m not rushing out to buy one.

I already know when I’m being bad, and I don’t need to be nagged by my underwear.

By the way, the Smart Bra sells for $150.

If that price gives you a heart attack, the bra will know it.

Maybe the bra can call 911.

Maybe the bra can even drive you to the hospital.

Don’t slack, bra.

That’s for breasts.

The Canadian company says that wearable tech is the latest thing, and that it developed its Smart Bra because it had “a plethora of requests from eager women who wanted in on the action, too.”

Do you believe that?

I don’t.

On the contrary, I know a plethora of eager women who wish they didn’t have to wear a bra at all.

I also know a plethora of eager women who take their bra off the moment they hit the house.

Plus, I know a plethora of eager women who skip the bra if they’re wearing a sweatshirt, sweater, or down vest.

Finally, I know a plethora of eager women who would never use the word plethora in a sentence.

Okay, maybe I’m talking about myself.

Frankly, I don’t want “in on the action” if the action means a bra that will tell the tri-state area I’m pigging out.

However, I want “in on the action” if the action means Bradley Cooper.

And nobody needs a Smart Bra to monitor what would happen to my heart if Bradley Cooper were around.

By the way, researchers are not currently developing a pair of smart tighty whiteys for men.

That’s too bad because I have a name for it.

SmartBalls.

But maybe men don’t need underwear with a sensor that detects their emotional changes.

They already have such a sensor.

In fact, they were born with it.

Too bad it doesn’t make any noise.

Like, woohooo!

Copyright Lisa Scottoline 2016