thunder, stolen
A mere six or so chapters into The Bloggess' new book (Let's Pretend This Never Happened: A Mostly True Memoir), I find myself dismayed.
Instead of laughing or being mildly grossed out at her father's strange antics, as per the rest of my book club, I found myself nodding in recognition, then kindling back over to 50 Shades of Grey (which, for the record, is terrible, and not even all that hot. so there.).
Texas? Saskatchewan. Pickup full of roadkill? Bait left in the fishing pail for a week. Home butchering? Home filleting. Taxidermy everywhere? Pike hung from our front mailbox. Wild "surprises"? Various critters brought home from the service station in grimy jam jars or coffee tins (often, giant spiders, which: GAH). "Magic" squirrel? "Chicks" hatched in our oven.
So it's settled: since she got there first, and better, I'll never write a book about my childhood. In some ways, it's a relief. I've come to enjoy having friends and fitting in. (I really should have taken that pike off the mailbox sooner.)
Instead of laughing or being mildly grossed out at her father's strange antics, as per the rest of my book club, I found myself nodding in recognition, then kindling back over to 50 Shades of Grey (which, for the record, is terrible, and not even all that hot. so there.).
Texas? Saskatchewan. Pickup full of roadkill? Bait left in the fishing pail for a week. Home butchering? Home filleting. Taxidermy everywhere? Pike hung from our front mailbox. Wild "surprises"? Various critters brought home from the service station in grimy jam jars or coffee tins (often, giant spiders, which: GAH). "Magic" squirrel? "Chicks" hatched in our oven.
So it's settled: since she got there first, and better, I'll never write a book about my childhood. In some ways, it's a relief. I've come to enjoy having friends and fitting in. (I really should have taken that pike off the mailbox sooner.)