Some of you also know that now that school's out around here, I'm taking "make a hot breakfast for the family" off my list of things to do every day, allowing me to both sleep till six if I so choose AND write first thing.
But today is my anniversary (not just mine, Husband's, too, natch) and so I got up and made him some banana pancakes - with (*gasp*) white flour. He has since reaffirmed his pledge of eternal devotion. He's so easy. And I gave him golf clubs. This is a big deal, since we're pretty ferocious budgeters around here, and gifts are usually for the kids.
The point of all this is that I now have one very happy husband an one ridiculously offended muse.
It is time for me to pet her, to stroke her head, to tell her how much I love her and that almost nothing in the world could make me neglect putting her first in my day. Except that little marriage thing.
Oh, little Muse? Come out, come out here, sweetie.
You are the greatest Muse any writergirl ever had.
You are lovely and charming and witty and you have great hair.
I love your style.
I love your flowy, Greek-theatre style gowns (always the purest white).
I love your persistence.
Thank you, dearest Muse, for sticking with me,
for waking early
for working quickly
for speaking gently
for spreading adverbs like pollen on the wind
for consistency (we'll never speak of YOU KNOW WHAT again...)
Won't you please come out and play?
Won't you please come sing in my ear?
Won't you please forgive me for, just this once, putting husband before you on the schedule?
Come on, little one. Come sing with me.
I brought cinnamon bears.
*Hygiene is a word I can never, never spell correctly. It took me seven (SEVEN!) tries to get that one right. Weird is another that gives me trouble (duh). And vacuum. I think it wants 2 cs instead of 2 us.