He's the Inspiration

The Boy is not happy. Today, I received the following call:

Me: (in hushed, working-in-an-open-cubicle voice with a hint of "this is the fourth time you’ve called today") Hi.
Him: I did not throw the controller!

He went on to admonish me that I did not portray the episode properly, then performed a rant on the lack of frequency of his appearances here at, “Setta-dee.”

“I’m not a cricket,” he said, “I’m a cofounder.”

How he suddenly gained the right to call my creations his is a certifiable unknown. He complained that this publication makes him look like a jerk, but added, “The irony in the trunk thing is pretty funny.”

Then he told me it had been eight days since my last post, and he, a not-so-faithful reader, felt that I needed to update as soon as possible.

Here we are. This is his shout-out. I hope he enjoys it.

Life has continued to daunt, as the holidays approach with the rapidity of a big ol’ jet airliner.

I…was…PISSED to earn TWO B+’s in one of my classes. Chalk it up to stylistic differences, I guess, but The Boy chalks it up to unrealistic expectations and ridiculous standards of success. I say that’s what happens when you bring home papers and tests your whole life with 94’s on them to a mother who remarks, “What six did you get wrong?”

To balance out the B’s, an editor called this week about a magazine column. I think that’s as far as this one’s going to go, but with my limited credits, it’s nice to know he looked at my proposal and had any reaction other than unrestrained laughter.

Tonight we are going to Medieval Times. No, really. It might surprise you that a woman of my snobbery (and gorgeous new ivory and aubergine cashmere coats) would make an appearance at such an establishment (only to eat half a chicken with her hands, no less), but these are the things we do for friends. Happy Early Birthday to Edes.

Tomorrow, I am accompanying Little Sister to try on bridesmaids gowns. She was supposed to be a junior bridesmaid, but she campaigned to be a “real” one. I said, “So, what you’re saying is that you want to be a full-fledged bridesmaid?”

She: “No. Because I don’t even know what fuh-ledge means.”

She thinks she’ll talk Mom into allowing her to wear a strapless dress. I’m not sure what she plans on using to hold it up, but I’d like there to be a strict, no double-sided tape rule at my nuptials, thanks.

Otherwise, the wallpaper in the bathroom will be bidding a fond farewell, as The Boy uses his newfound free Saturday to rip it mercilessly from the walls. I think we will finish moving him in sometime in mid-2006.

I hope this post has reminded my several readers that I exist while placating The Boy.

Soon, I’ll be headed to watch jousting. Here’s to hoping your night does not involve bugles or long-haired men with horses and pointy sticks.