APB for a Missing Muse

Dearest Muse:

Where are you today? I actually have a few minutes to write instead of my usual type a word, deal with a meltdown, rinse and repeat method of blogging. My little ones are lethargic from the heat and therefore are slightly less high maintenance than usual. So, I could use some funny inspiration.

Yes, I did appreciate you sending the burly woman wearing jeans with the fronts ripped out from the pockets to the knees like reverse chaps - but that's not really enough for an entire post. I also guffawed at the woman at the hair salon giving a detailed description of her breast feeding/pumping practices to her new flamboyantly gay stylist whose face matched his kelly green skinny pants listening to her intricate details.   She clearly needs a lesson on how to speak to her audience. But again…not enough. 

I miss your sick, twisted humor that provides me with bountiful fodder.  It’s becoming clear that I am entirely too dependent upon you and should look into some type of 12-step program.  Except, I don’t have the time nor the energy for all 12 steps.  I’d only make it one or two and then begin imagining a future involving boring user manuals on vacuum cleaner bag maintenance or the art of watching paint dry.  Downtrodden,  I’ll end up writing for some Penny Saver free thing that comes in the mail and just gets put directly into the bottom of a birdcage.  My writing will be an aviary litter box, muse.  Are you ready for that kind of guilt riding on your muse-licious shoulders?

Hope you get off your lazy muse butt and make a visit soon.  I have chocolate.  I’m just saying.  I’m not above a little bribery.


Love,

Tracy