I am up at 4:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning! This demonstrates one of two things. Either, (A) I’ve become addicted to blogging in the true sense of the word, i.e. “when a repeated behavior negatively impacts your life but you keep doing it anyway.” I’ve often said in A.A. meetings, “Although alcohol is my primary addiction, if you can do something more than once, I can become addicted to it.” In Virginia, I had a vanity license plate that said: OBSESS.
BUTLER: “Excuse me, sir, but is there ever going to be an ‘or’ in this either/or construction?”
Or, (B) that my sleep patterns are changing as I get older.
In any case, I am a tad sleep deprived but I have some time alone in the dark early morning hours to scan photographs, work with Photoshop, work on my poems…
BUTLER: “But you are not doing any of those things, are you. You are blogging again, aren’t you. You might want to look up ‘moderation’ in the dictionary.
But we are interrupted by the crashing sound of the door slamming against the wall and Bagman erupts into the room, roaring with excitement.
BAGMAN: “I just found out about Pure Romance parties! We need to go to one!”
I look befuddled. Even more so when I wonder what it means to be fuddled. Is fuddled a thing you can actually be when you are befuddled? But Butler does not seem displeased.
BUTLER: “One of your fans put this into your head, right?”
BAGMAN: “You’ve been hacking into my emails again!”
BUTLER: “How else can I keep tabs on you! But I’m just pleased that a little purity has entered your life. A pure romance with God. Mother Theresa would be proud. We all need more purity in our lives.”
There is an awkward silence. I continue to explore the state of being fuddled. Bagman looks like he is befuddled also. Butler is busy looking things up on the Internet. His screen flips through various websites until suddenly he falls over backward in his chair.
BUTLER: “Oh my God!”
I’m thinking in digressions again that this must be the popular OMG abbreviation that kids use while texting. But Butler is now dusting himself off and throwing withering looks at Bagman.
BUTLER: “Stop. We are not going any further with this! This is a G-rated blog and Pure Romance is not G-rated. It is a line of products, using the term loosely, sold at parties attended mostly by women.”
BAGMAN: “Which is why we need to go! Now! And who says this has to be a G-rated blog?”
“Sort of like Avon?” I suggest before falling into another digression about what letter I should use to rate the blog. Probably D-rated for scenes containing brief digressions.
BUTLER: “More like Tupperware. Except with small battery operated motors inserted.”
BAGMAN: “HAHA! You used the word ‘inserted’! Inserted inserted inserted!
Bagman is dancing around Butler like a 9-year-old who has learned a new four-letter word, teasing him with a sing-song chant: “Butler said ‘inserted,’ Butler said ‘inserted…”
Enough, I think and stride over to see what was on Butler’s computer screen that shocked him so much. One glance and I realize that I have just lost 50% of my followers and my blog is going to have its mouth washed out by the Blogspot Police. I immediately hit the breaker switch and throw everything into darkness where I hear Butler’s disembodied voice.
BUTLER: “Rather odd use of the word ‘pure’ don’t you think?
BAGMAN: “I don’t care what they call it! I just want to go to one! Just to watch!”
I leave the room as Butler starts grilling Bagman about which of our followers told him about Pure Romance Parties so Butler can block them. Bagman is refusing to tell even if Butler tortures him with the deluxe feather tickler which you can also buy on sale at a Pure Romance party..
I decide that, at my age, we might want to start more conservatively. Maybe Avon. A nice bath oil for my wife. Or some Tupperware containers.
