Aunt J called to notify me I had typos on the blog.
This is what happens when you blog with the kiddie-version of “Extreme Fighting Challenge” going on in the background and the telephone ringing off the hook. Not to mention, I have to frequently leave the computer to play referee or see why the smoke detector is bleeping.
(By the way, if you shoot a whole can of silly string at the smoke detector, it will cause extensive damage to the electronic guts. Most of you won’t need to know this – but, just in case, I thought I’d share.)
Anyway, Aunt J calls me nearly every time I post… because I usually have typos. Then, we talk about her arthritic hip, her yippy dog with the bowel problem and how her third husband was way better than the one she has now, which is number five, I think. If I don’t fix the typos, she calls back.
I let them go sometimes just to annoy her.
You know, when I started blogging, part of the appeal was – I had total control. Online, there would be no (insert unkind words here) proofreaders or copy editors, breathing down my neck or goading me into debates about whether real writers should use political lingo, contrived words, or essential Appalachian words like “ain’t,” “Mamma,” and “dadburn.” My argument is – I’m not a real writer. I’m mostly just a smartass with a keyboard. Furthermore, my right to invent words is protected by the Constitution of the United States of America.
My right to be employed, however, is not. At least, that’s what the Blue-Pencil Potentate says.
Blue-Pencil Potentate is the current thorn in my side. She never lets me make-up new words. She insists all words must be listed in the dictionary as legitimate words. She decides whole entire paragraphs are unnecessary – no matter how funny they are. And she does this all with a perky smile.
She also uses the word “shan’t” on a regular basis and will only drink alcoholic beverages if they come with umbrellas. I’m telling you this because I feel it offers insight into the type of person she is… she’s perky and perfect.
Perfect, perfect, perfect.
This blog is an escape from perfection. I write whatever I want, however I want. I punctuate it incorrectly. I invent whole new words anytime the notion strikes me. Heck, I can even write upside down. I’m not quite sure how – but Say Uncle did it once. I don’t have to make sense to anyone other than myself – and usually when I do make mistakes, no one cares.
Except Aunt J. Who calls me on it. A lot. Numerous times. And it occurs to me now – I don’t know if the Blue Pencil Potentate has a dog or not… or if it’s bowels work properly.
I think I appreciate that about her.