Fine by me

Well, my fine (non-feathered) friends, this is a fine how do you do. The official word is that I'm not entirely fine and dandy. Fine! I admit it. Sort of. Not to put too fine a point on it, but this is not news. Going face-first into the breakfast table was not my finest hour. When I consider, though, that it took a fine-toothed comb to prove that I'm not exactly in fine fettle, fine doesn't seem such a poor choice in adjective. It's not as if I've been claiming to be fabulous. Besides, if this has indeed been my chronic, life-long state, I'll never get any closer to fine, anyway, on this or any other fine day. The fine print in the drug brochure says I might, but if I ever really get to be in a fine mess, I've no doubt it will all be that medicine's fault. There may be a fine line between taking and giving, but do you really think I'd quote the Bee Gees, even if this line made sense? Not a chance. My brain waves may sometimes be erratic, but my musical taste remains fine.