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I’m a Southern belle, if you couldn’t tell from my greeting. That doesn’t mean I’m walking around in a hoop skirt and quoting Scarlet O’Hara. I think it just means I have a healthy amount of eccentric in my gene pool, sweet tea is customary, and dessert is expected. That may also explain the size of my derriere, but I may be oversharing.
I am married to a wonderful man that understands that pajamas are a legitimate work uniform as long as you claim to be a writer. We have two rotten teenagers who seem to need me less and less every day; that is until they need a ride to the mall or hockey practice. At that time I become a witty and wonderful mom whose beauty has no equal…as long as I don’t ask them to do the dishes.
At the ripe old age of 32, I decided to go back to school and get my degree. When I was younger I dreamed of becoming a photo journalist. When I realized I had a tendency to cut most of the heads off my pictures, I dropped the photo part and decided to major in journalism and mass communications instead. Fast forward a few years and I’m not any better at taking pictures, but I have a degree along with countless hours of volunteering logged at the communications department of my local courthouse that I can never get back. And guess what? I don’t actually like the news. Too many wackos, murderers, and child predators out there. I have zero desire to tell their stories. I want to tell my own.
I eventually stopped volunteering at that depressing courthouse when I came to terms with my dream career being more of a nightmare. I wasted a few tissues on feeling pathetic and then I began to look on the bright side: Let’s face it, pajamas on the couch with a laptop is way better than an ugly pantsuit in a beige office any day of the week. I got serious about putting together my own book, mostly because poor is not a good look on me and my daughter likes clothes…A lot. This is my first attempt and I’m hoping is doesn’t completely stink. Let me know what you think.