…and I have a feeling that this post will end with a whimper. Loralee decided to subject you all to my prose. She thought “My God! That Heather B. will be witty and funny and full of good cheer.” Which on a good day, like a Saturday, this would be true since I like to discuss pooping rainbows and sitting on bright clouds with daffodils. I’ve also been known to have stars come out of my rear end because I’m just so damn happy to be alive and breathing fresh air. There’s even a song bursting from my heart every single day.
Instead she has left you with a person who would much rather drop a copy of Anna Karenina on someone’s big toe and really, what is with all of this sharing of oxygen with the general public? Also, unicorns aren’t real, I’m not a big fan of puppies or kittens for that matter. And the only thing bursting from my heart on this (actually quite lovely) day is a chorus of profanities that would make Samuel Lee Jackson cringe.
Meanwhile you all are shocked and incredulous saying “Well, I declare!” that Loralee would leave her blog in the hands of such a disgruntle person. I’m sure she will apologize and send you all cases of diet coke and fresh baked sugar cookies upon her return. She will pet your head and whisper sweet nothings into your respective ears. “Don’t worry” shell say, “The mean, mean lady will not return ever again. Shhh. There, there.” Then you’ll ask that she checks your closets, under your beds and in your browser cache to make sure that I never, ever return. I understand. Really I do.
So when Loralee returns you will show her your undying love and appreciation. It’s like when your mother goes away and you’re all happy and everything but she leaves you with the crappy babysitter who swears and drinks a lot of vodka. And then you cry because you’d rather have the nice babysitter who will play Uno with you 987 times and listen to Hannah Montana on repeat because she cares. But that nice babysitter won’t come until tomorrow and then for the rest of the week and so for now you must suffer.
When Loralee gets back. Love on her. Email her. Leave her funny comments and tell her how god damn happy you are to bask in her presence once again. And if she asks me to guest post for her ever again, I’ll remind her of this day. Then she’ll offer me a lifetime supply of Grey Goose and well, you’ll have to suffer again.
I am so sorry.