“Do you need the pretend hair? Or a wig? I wouldn’t wear a wig either. Wigs are stupid. Ga- ha! Why are you talking ’bout wigs?”
9 year old girls have funny questions and conversations. I think they must be alien beings. “A fuzzy just came out of your hair.” (“It’s flying” – said in a whisper) Loud laughing. “Why are you typing that a fuzzy came out of your hair. Why are you typing everything I say. Stop it. What are you writing this for? Are you writing this for school.” Her forehead then cracks against my skull – her asthmatic breath in my ear. Oh Avery, you goofy child. She must leave the room. Her daddy is so weird. It’s bed time.
The day passes on uneventfully. Invent grilled sirloin scrambled eggs with fresh garlic and rosemary (FYI the best eggs ever created), read the Sunday paper, check my blog views, check monthly data cap, dangerously close. Check youngest for eyeball lacerations, epic ninja card throwing battle goes awry with brother. Time magazine, blog stats unmoved, a mismatched Lions’ game. For once the Lions are the powerhouse. I am unaccustomed to their league prowess although still second in their division – in the words of one small town Wisconson mechanic “Yeah – Go Pack!” I’m so sick of them. Aaron Rodgers. I’d like to discount double-check him with a crowbar to the knee cap. Lambeau in December. Lunch snacking. Check my blog stats. Time to go for a run with the dog and register a slow time. Check blog – 2 views. Blog? Facebook to check blog comments. Break a jar of pickles trying to kiss my wife. What kind of omen is that? Mop, sop, sweep, vacuum. Check writing contests – in progress, under review, pass, pass, pass, pass, pass, no thank you, not right for us, you’ll not write for us, pass, pass, declined, declined. Rake the coals out of the ash, load the wood burner, pet the dog, blog views – 4. Facebook comments – all positive – only from relatives. Don’t strangers read anymore? Start dinner, Naked and Afraid (the show not me) although I am cooking with oil that could be scary if naked. Risotto under cooked not quite creamy, still cheesy. Who could complain? Views? Somebody get on their phone, tablet, desktop view and comment already. Is it so damn hard to click follow? Where’s my whiskey sour? Ahhh. There you are. Oh Gentleman Jack you still love me, you ice clinking beauty. Blog. Stats. Unmoved. Baaaahhhhhhhhhh! I have a book for sale. Just up there a few inches. Just click it. Buy it. I swear I’ll step away from the edge………….
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
^ ^
| o o
| | |
| | |
| () ()
| / . \
| / # \
| >——{ . . }——-<
| ||
| /o\
| ( v )
| (xx)
_____________
SPLAT! – Onomatopoeia my pants laughing if it weren’t a true story.
You didn’t buy. May God have mercy on your soul.
*This a satirical rant. No bloggers were hurt in the making of this post although your conscience should still bother you. Please drink copiously.
Snow Day 
Please don’t let this be your last. Your writing is too good to end it all. Let the frustration pass and keep on rolling. I loved this post by the way.
LikeLike
Okay. I will pick my busted neck off the floor and soldier on.
LikeLiked by 1 person
I’d leave a positive comment, but I’m a relative. Just so you know, though, positive comments from relatives means you are loved—-an important detail.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Aunt Sue,
I’m not poo-pooing the comments from relatives. Without those I’d have no comments. Mom does the most so I know the love part. I’m always encouraged by family’s comments. Thank you. I was railing against strangers who don’t read or comment as blogging is all about collecting an audience for posts although I don’t do short posts so it is less conducive to the quick scroll.
LikeLiked by 1 person