Good thing I remembered to put the iron down. That's his only white oxford shirt. I gripped the side of the ironing board in something close to ecstasy. Gross, I know. But listen, you take your shots where you can get them. I'm just sorry Nate's shirt had to bear witness to the moaning and thrashing about.
Now I'm going to finish this fucker. I've got the bracelet and I'm wearing it. By wearing it, I am accountable to Amy, Teri (who came up with the bracelet idea), Sherry, Lyra, Averil, Deb, MacDougal Street Baby, Erika, Bobbi, Laura, Cat, Suzy, and the rest of the creative people who make up this ad hoc writers' group that found each other making smart remarks here.
And it's because of you guys, the reader of this blog, who've urged me on and provided all kinds of creative support.
And a special thanks to the beta readers. I handed you a fairly unfinished mess and you gave me the kind of feedback that has not only made the story more time and location authentic, but it also gave me some ideas for plot lines. And? You were all so incredibly kind about it. Not a one of you sent me back a pile of ashes or hate mail. I love you for that.
Now on to the reason I've called this meeting. It seems I've gained a new blogging niche. How I'm to parlay this into mega advertising dollars or finesse it onto my moldering resume is anyone's guess, but it's something to be able to say that my blog is huge in Canada, Europe and Asia among those seeking FAIL photos. Or fotos as one googler put it.
|Click the image to see the gory details.|
I'm not sure I like how that sounds. Let try again. They're landing on this post, but really they're looking for the photos on it. And they're particularly interested in the hairy guy.
I wonder if he knows how sought after he is. Then again, maybe this gets filed under blissful ignorance.
Tell me about your holiday. Good? Indifferent? Bad? Fistfights? Did you eat too much, drink too much, tell your Uncle Jeb to get stuffed? Pumpkin pie or pecan? What did you do with the sweet potatoes?