Yesterday, I finished work. As in for the whole summer. When I got home and sat my tired butt on the couch, my husband told me he’d read all the comments on my Book Deal post.
“They’re really nice,” he said.
“Are you surprised?” I asked, teasing him.
“No,” he said, ” but they’re so genuine. I mean, you kind of expect the people you more-or-less know to be really happy for you… the Renees and the Clays and the Trishes and Elenas, but there are a lot of other people who are thrilled too.”
I nodded. “My readers rock.”
And you do.
Thank your for sharing in my excitement. I am serious when I say this book deal would not have come about if it weren’t for y’all.
Since I’m a bit short on brain cells (I loaned most of mine to middle school students who neglected to return them), I’m posting a link to my humour column that ran yesterday.
It’s called Why I’m Such a Lousy Soccer Mom. It starts with a wee rant:
The U8 soccer season just ended for my twins. This means I can do something else on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons besides complain about having to go to Vivian’s and William’s practices and games.
My husband endures most of my soccer rants. My first monologue was early in the season and lasted only slightly longer than a Kardashian marriage. He listened as my feminist self went on about the sexist nature of the girls’ team names, with monikers like the Frillettes, the Kittens or the Willows. OK, these are made up, but you get the picture. And the picture is that many of these names would sound more at home at a pole-dancing establishment than on a field. It is especially infuriating to me when I compare them to the names of the boys’ teams: Terminators, Uzis, Killers.
It gets slightly less rant-y and slightly more funny. Click here to read the rest of Why I’m Such a Lousy Soccer Mom.
Feel free to rant about whatever you like in the comments.
What’s your latest pet peeve?