Did you ever think about going over and looking at my Flickr pictures? That aren’t even mine they’re my husband’s? (Some of them are mine. Just not all of them.)
“Did you ever hear of the Napoleonic code, Stella? Now just let me enlighten you on a point or two. Now, we got here in the state of Louisiana what’s known as the Napoleonic code. You see, now according to that, what belongs to the wife belongs to the husband also, and vice versa. It looks to me like you’ve been swindled, baby.” — Stanley Kowalski, “A Streetcar Named Desire.”
You should look at ‘em, and leave some nice comments. Something like, “Why won’t you show us any pictures of the kids? Argh, I need to see what your kids look like! Damn you, Wacky Mommy…” etc.
Here is the deal: I was seriously considering posting pictures of the kids. They are funny and cute (of course) and extremely photogenic. But no, they have had tiny freak-outs, and now they don’t even want me to blog about them! The hell you say.
It’s true. I’m supposed to ask for their permission, and they want to read everything first to make sure, “You’re not lying, are you? Mom. Like did you say you weren’t saying those things about us and you really were? Mom!” (That would be my daughter.) (And no, I didn’t ask her permission before writing this. Let’s just keep this between us, shall we?)
She knows how to fire up my computer. I need to password protect this thing about six different ways because she knows all my passwords. I am in Deep Shit, Arkansas here. The younger one? Her brother? He doesn’t even know how to read yet. So anything about him, his sister reads to him over my shoulder, he confirms, “Yep, she can blog that,” and off we go. The other day, I was writing something about me, me, me, not them, them, them. I think it was the Rockin’ Girl Bloggers entry. And yeah, I did mention my son’s foul, cursing mouth, but that was it.
My daughter pipes up, “Now are you writing about your little children? Are you? Your poor little children who don’t want you writing about them?” Then she snarled and her head spun around three times, rapidly. It made her brother blink. It was scary, you should be glad you missed it. So, no photos of them. But I am having fun with Flickr, and I’m now contacts for two (2!) of my friends! This is a big deal for me! So ask me if I want to be a contact for you, and chances are I’ll say hell, yes! Cuz I’m easy.
Also, after doing my profile page I’ve discovered the following:
Flickr “couldn’t find any people who are interested in “Betting on the horses”.
We give up!
“We couldn’t find any people who are interested in “Naked Bongo Boy”. (That would be Matthew McConaughey, duh.)
We give up!
And I find it hard to believe that there is no one in this entire Flickr Universe interested in “riding around in golf carts drinking martinis”. What is wrong with all of you?
There is one nice woman in Nashville who is interested in “beating my husband at cribbage.” Me, too!
Maybe I should add her to my contacts list.