Guess what my daughter gave me for my birthday?
That's right, she gave me that special flu that starts with EWWW and ends with GROSS!
It's the gift that keeps on giving.
As Gad as my witness, I will never ever ever ever ever ever ever eat a Whopper Junior ever ever ever ever ever again!
But a gift is a gift, and every gift teaches you something. From this gift I learned that you should never cup your hand over your mouth when running to the bathroom because, trust me, there are other exits on your face whereby a Whopper Junior can make its great escape.
Was that TMI? Because an artist pledges allegiance to truth before beauty, you know.
That's another thing I learned from this gift, that I'm a true artist. You know you're an artist when you can heave ho while your mind simultaneously describes how it feels to heave ho. If you are a painter/artist, your mind will most likely simultaneously sketch little bits of Whopper Junior splattering across canvas, just as if you are a dancer/artist your mind will most likely start choreographing those little bits waltzing enthusiastically to the Duluth Accordionaires.
Sorry, truth before beauty. That's my pledge.
A true writer/artist always pushes herself to show, rather than tell a story, even as the story is unfolding. She may be in mid-gag, but her mind is not. Her mind is making decisions about adverbs and adjectives. Should she take the easy way out and use a verb coupled with an adverb, like regurgitated heartily, or should she go with a declarative adjective like EWWWWW GROSS!!!! Or should she go the extra mile and describe the way that little flu bug winds up like a bobbin just before it sews the big dipper into her gut?
It's the million dollar question all writer/artists must face when they're bowing at the porcelain throne.
(My apologies if you're eating right now.)
Another thing I learned is that in between regurgitating heartily you realize what's most important to you.
I never realized how important banana popsicles were to me. Alls I wanted was a banana popsicle.
"Please somebody, anybody," I whispered in fetal position from the bathroom floor. "Can someone please, please, pretty please bring me a banana popsicle?"
But no one could hear me because they were all out mowing the lawn and then shooting baskets and then taking Lulu for a romp through the park.
Finally my hub burst through the door and declared, "Someone just tried to beat me up in the park!"
"That's nice, honey, can you get me a banana popsicle?"
"Isn't that freaky?" He continued.
"Banana . . ."
"Why would someone pick a fight with me?"
"Popsicle . . . "
"I wasn't doing anything to him!"
"Please . . ."
"He ordered the boys to sit and then he took the dog leash and then he pushed my chest and said . . ."
"'Come on, you swear word coward! Let's GO!' and I was like, 'What are you doing, dude???' and he was like 'Are you going to be a swear word swear word swear word coward in front of your boys? bleep bleep bleep.'"
My hub, poor thing, was obviously suffering from post traumatic stress, (he's a lubber, not a fighter) but so was I!
And doggonit, I just wanted a freakin' popsicle!!!!
Is that so wrong?
Anyways, that's what my dear, sweet daughter taught me about myself this weekend.
And anyways again, now it's up to me to pass this gift along so all the people I lub can learn important life lessons too.
Is it true that I'll have seven years of bad luck if I don't send it to ten of my closest friends within the next five minutes?
Consider yourself tagged!