Recently I received an email from someone telling me I’m a bitch, and that very soon I would fall from this great height I’ve kept myself at.
At first I thought the emailer meant the high heeled shoes I wear when I go out socially. At 5ft and 4.5 inches tall, I like a little elevation. But, after reading the email again I realized she didn’t mean heels.
I then crawled under my coffee table, stuck my thumb in my mouth and tried hard not to cry. What this person said confused and scared me, and the emotional trauma lasted for days.
Because, I am afraid of falling. But, I’m not afraid of heights.
You see, I suffer from mild episodes of vertigo from time to time, and that usually happens when I’m at some kind of height, which sucks. So, I mostly try and avoid heights, but I also love them, because you know…
With great heights come great views.
Turns out what this person told me was not wrong. Soon after the email incident I began watching a TV show which had for a very long time been recommended by a good friend. At the time, I had put it on my “Watch and See if You Like Shit Like This” list and then forgot about it.
When I began watching it last week (six months after it was recommended) I got instantly addicted. I also fell, very hard and very fast for the male lead in the show. When that happened, it felt like I was falling from a great height. It also felt so good, I wanted to climb back up and fall again and again and again. I wanted to have a multiple orgasm fall for this gorgeous piece of male perfection.
Disclaimer: I refuse to mention the name of the show or even who the male lead is on the grounds that I only share him with Chani.
So, as it turns out, my emailer was right. The fall happened.
Now, I’m convinced she is a descendant of Nostradamus, and I want to send her cupcakes.
In other news, my daughter informed me during our weekend outing that if there was ever a case of attempted kidnapping involving her, and should screaming for help fail, she would kick her assailant “you know where” and run.
Me: Where is you know where?
Her (darting her eyes left and right): You know… Below the belly button. There!
Me: Stop talking like Anastasia Steel.
Me: Never mind. Who taught you this ‘get away’ trick kick?
Her: No one. I learned it myself.
Me: Lying to your mother is a sin.
Her: I’m not lying.
Me: A punishable sin.
Her: I’m not lying.
Me: Your loyalty to your father is commendable, but it’s also pretty transparent.
Her: Is Dad in trouble?
Me: That depends. Do you think someone trying to kidnap you would be fun?
Me: Then he’s not in trouble.
Of course I still discussed it with him later that evening.
Me: Just a reminder… She’s nine years old.
Him: Which is why I’ll wait till she’s older to teach her how to break noses.
Me: As long as she doesn’t maim the Zac Efron look-alike who’ll take her to Prom.
Him: Why Efron?
Me: They had a High School Musical marathon the other day. Efron is back. I’m trying to stay current.
Him: What happened to One Direction? I thought they were on the horizon.
Me: Too soon after Nick Jonas.
Him: How many lookalikes will I have to keep track of?
Me: It’s my job to keep track. Your job is to seriously intimidate whatever lookalike I track. Now put on my show, I need to fall in love again and prove that Nostradamus is alive in spirit.
Him: Just a reminder… Threesomes with another man is out of the question in this relationship.
Me: I wouldn’t share my new crush with you even if you paid me.
Him: There are times when you come too close to earning the titles those nasty emailers give you.
Me: For what it’s worth, I wouldn’t share you with anyone either. Male or female. There would be a lot of kicking down there if I encountered that scenario.
Him: I’m not smiling because your sentiment pleases me.
Then, there was a bookstore incident. I was browsing and came across the latest book by Nora Roberts. Just I reached for it, a woman grabbed the book with a “Sorry. This is mine.”
I chose not to remind her that we were in a bookstore which would have many more copies of the same book available.
“I love Nora Roberts.” She said, flipping through the pages.
Me: Have you read her work under the other name she uses?
Her: She doesn’t use another name.
Me: J.D. Robb. Here. (I handed her a book.)
She laughed and rolled her eyes, so I turned away. She snickered some more behind my back. I heard her mutter “Idiot.”
I turned back around and used my outside voice.
“No, I do not know where the Mommy Porn section is.”
People stopped browsing and stared, a store clerk hurried over to the woman, she dropped the book in her hand like it was a hot potato, and I don’t know why. It was the J.D Robb book I’d given her.
I’m a terrible human being (some might even call me a bitch), and this is a pathetically short post. However, I have a chapter update I need to work on, so it’s time for me to leave you.
But, before I do, I’d like to wish all those celebrating the festival of Holi, and also St. Patrick’s Day, a very happy, colourful, fun-filled (and if it’s your thing, an intoxicating 😉 ) one. Be well, be safe, and have a blast!
Lots of love,