To My Audience

My dearth of posts reflects the un-wittiness I’ve been feeling lately.  Every time I sit down to write I think to myself, “Booney…nobody cares about what you have to say.  Talking about the woman you stood in line behind at the post office is dull reporting; even if she was wearing a muumuu and had a cat perched on her shoulder like Iago.  Does she think she’s Jafar, only with a walker instead of a cane? Is she attempting to steal a magic lamp and her cat is the secret weapon?  Nevermind.  Quit thinking about it, nobody cares. And nobody cares that you scarfed half a pan of 7-layer bean dip in one sitting and nearly suffered an intestinal explosion from the subsequent gas.  It’s lame.  In fact, you’re lame.  IN FACT, you probably don’t even have any readers so move on already.  Now get away from the computer and finish your 30 Rock episode on Netflix.  While eating more bean dip.” 

Then I do that instead of blog.

I was talking to my sissy on the phone last night and she reprimanded me for not posting lately.   As it turns out, she and my nieces LOVE my blog.  LOVE, as in severe disappointment and agony if I don’t post regularly.   I can't do that to my lovely nieces and sister.  They need me.  They need to hear about my dog humping my leg the other night even though he’s old.  He’s apparently made the transition from merely being old to being old and pervy.  I’m so proud. 

My nieces want me to tell them about how I encouraged Eva to pee in the shower one morning and now she won’t stop.  She exclaims with delight, “I’m peeing in the shower, Mama!” and it makes me feel like I’m doing something right with that girl.  We finally have a shared hobby. 

My sissy needs to know that I found a strap of jingle bells at Lowe’s and bought them to hang on my front door.  We had some growing up and the sound of bells every time the door opens reminds me of home and Christmas.  I should also tell my sissy that Eva carries the jingle bells everywhere she goes and I have to listen to them ringing ALL DAY LONG.  She’s ruining the magic for me.  If I ask her to put the bells back on the door knob she hisses at me and says, “No!  They’re my jinger bells, not yours.  They’re not yours, Mama.”  (Just to be clear, they are mine.  I bought them for myself.  With my husband’s money.)

The point is, I’ve had a reawakening.  Even if I only have an audience of 3, I want to make them chuckle every once in a while.  It brings me joy to know they love me.

I’ll start jotting down notes again for future posts and will work on blogging more often.

Right after 30 Rock.