Hello friends, family, fellow Americans or those with duel citizenship, the British, and anyone else who might be reading this post. I've recently received e-mails from several of you stating that you enjoy my blog. I have to admit, it came as a shock to me that anyone besides Noah and my parents read this on a regular basis. Apparently, there are at least six of you.
Here's what it comes down to: I'm growing weary of seeing a big fat goose egg next to "comments" at the bottom of nearly every post. I'd like to congratulate those of you who have dared to comment, especially Anonymous, who is one of my devoted followers. Also Susanne McGivern, my dear cousin over in Norn Iron, who as my matron of honor loaned me a pair of new blue underwear to cover every base except "old." Sue, if you need those back, I still have them.
Here's the point, folks: I'd like to hear what you have to say. It's very simple for those of you who are unfamiliar with this kind of new-fangled contraption (you know who you are); simply click on "comments," follow the instructions, and comment away. For those of you who aren't new to this, for shame.
And now for a confession: Because of my charm and wit you may have an image of a strong, powerful woman breaking barriers and shattering glass ceilings; and if you have that image of me, you would be correct. But that doesn't mean I don't care what you folks have to say. I do care. This blog is a way for me to show my human side, to interact with the masses. Like the time Hilary Rodham Clinton fake-cried during a speech when her campaign started to tank. I AM FAKE-CRYING HERE PEOPLE.
And now for a declaration: I refuse to acknowledge anyone commenting on this blog in any way other than through the comments section. From here on out, if anyone approaches me or e-mails me to say, "hey Erin, I read your blog," I will then ask if you commented, and if you didn't, the conversation will come to a swift, abrupt, and rather harsh halt. And that goes for you, too, Mom. And Dad, the comments section is not a place for you to try out your latest "jokes" or "witticisms."
To stir up conversation, I'm going to tell a true story of an exchange between me and my mother today. My mother's first name is Sharon. Her middle name is Myrtle, rhymes with turtle. She would prefer to be called Myrtle. Or she prefers that nobody knows her middle name is Myrtle ... one of two. Anyway, if anyone would like to share a similar story about their mothers being ding-dongs, or their fathers or siblings, aunts, uncles, strangers on the street, or if in fact you just want to say hello please do so IN THE COMMENTS SECTION. If you people don't start commenting, so help me. (Note to self: Try something else if strong-arm tactics don't work after this. You can't afford to lose readers.) And thus, the promised story:
Mom: Hi what time are you leaving work?
Erin: I'm not sure, around 4. Why?
Mom: Because I'm going into the library, and my phone will be on low but I still don't want it to ring, so don't call me during that time.
Erin: (secretly wondering why Mom doesn't just turn phone to vibrate, or leave it in the car, or turn it off, rather than get in touch with everyone who has her number) Oh, what are you going to the library for?
Mom: I'm going to beg for money. What do you think I'm doing? ...
Erin: (thinks, "of course, getting books")
Mom: ... Getting DVDs!
Ready, set, COMMENT! I DARE you. I double-dog dare you.