“Stop it,” I mutter to myself, rolling over in bed to smack the alarm.
“Wasn’t last night fun?” Gabby is a broken record while getting dressed, eating breakfast and walking to the bus. She never shuts up. “Reid this, pizza that. Oh, and Reid ...”
“Yeah, baby girl, it was fun, and unexpected ... yes, the pizza was great,” I drone on.
Reid’s better than pizza, my mind repeats throughout Gabby’s ongoing chatter and thereafter.
Back at home, I fire up my computer and get to work. I never posted last night, so my comments and emails aren’t overly heavy.
Of course, right there at the top of the inbox is an email from Reid.
Andrea (I hope that’s okay, my using your name on this personal communication),
I howled at your most recent post about the mom superimposing her kid into farm life. What a sham!
It’s late right now and I just spent the evening with a grade-schooler myself. I can’t imagine making a kid pretend to be something they’re not. It’s actually refreshing how they don’t pretend.
What I’m trying to say is you do a great job of pointing out the bullshit.
I’ve thought a lot about what you said, and I love blogging. I have fun grilling, and I don’t want to change my blog.
So, thanks.
Here’s to me explaining it to my real work.
Would love to thank you in person one day.
— Reid
By ten o’clock in the morning, I’m sufficiently mental over Reid wanting to thank Andrea in person, even when I’m one and the same.
After all, I’m the one fooling him. I should tell him, come clean before it’s too late.
When he texts the real me, sayingthanks for a great night(which, obviously, should have been my responsibility), I let it go.
I write a more cutting-than-usual post, order some shit online for Christmas, including a silver sparkly star for the top of our tree.
Gabby will go batshit crazy about it. Maybe she’ll even stop talking about Reid?
CAUGHT!
Mr. Michael is my MomandTumbleweed Dadwere recently caught canoodling in a corner booth in Brooklyn. Both made internet-famous for their wholesome, organic, granola-ish blogs, they’ve been teaming up online for a few months.
And apparently, in bed.
Yes, you heard me right. I saw the pictures on Instagram. Not of them in bed, but in Brooklyn following the latest Brands and Bloggers Conference.
Last year, we were made privy to the private, but not secret, divorces of both bloggers. Sadly,Mr. M and Mrs. Mhad outgrown each other after a ten-year marriage following a shotgun wedding. There was also the little thing when Mr. M came out of the closet.Tumbleweed Dad’s story is a tad more sad; his partner didn’t like living with a blogger. He wanted a corporate-exec type, and that is who he found to warm his bed at night. I do feel bad for him.
Mr. M’s kids are all doing great!
Anyway, the pair is joining forces and bringing a new conference to the scene. MxD is a brand-spanking-new event taking place this coming spring with a full lineup of the usual suspects speaking and advising. The good news is now Mr. M. and Tumbleweed can share the free room they receive for planning the conference at a chic California spa.
Affectionately yours,
The UnAffectionate Blogger
It isn’t normally my style to attack relationships, but to be honest, I need the page views and clicks. My own love life—or lack thereof—is interfering with my posting frequency. A few years ago, I wouldn’t have allowed it. Right now, I don’t know what I want.
