Self is watching Bobby Flay — some reality show on the Food Network. Can you believe it? Except for the morning’s errand run (which caused her to miss the most exciting episode of “The View” since — well, since the self-immolation of Rosie O’Donnell), self has been parked in front of the television and nothing exciting has happened. On the reality show self is currently watching, there has just taken place the most sedate send-off for an eliminated contestant that self has ever witnessed (Oh, how she longs for Gordon Ramsay and his: “Get out of here, you little f—face! You can’t cook! Get out! Get ouuuuttttt!!!”)
In the meantime, self sincerely hopes hubby doesn’t make it home before she’s succeeded in polishing off the slice of triple-chocolate mousse she bought from Chocolate Mousse on Laurel Street in San Carlos, on her way back from the Farmer’s Market.
Today, self thinks she’s going to begin a new “thread”: gorgeous short story titles. So far this year, she’s encountered one. And that was from a story in Flyway, the Spring/ Fall 2005 issue (Self! Why do you accumulate years and years worth of literary journals, and where are you going to park this stuff? Your dining room looks like a friggin’ library, there’s no place on the dining room table to rest so much as a plate, and you wonder why hubby is always crabby! But, once again, I digress)
And the title is (drumroll, please!):
On Growing Up Blind, in a Hotly Contested State
a short story
by
(who, surprisingly enough from the Contributor’s Notes, is identified as a poet)
Stay tuned, dear blog readers, stay tuned.
