Not-so-Hidden Talents and Letting them Eat Cake

I've, somehow, become the go-to-gal for quick and effortless (on their part) speeches, wedding toasts, love poems, resumes, cover letters, letters of recommendations and delicately phrased emails of woe.  

I'm not sure where one develops the talent to lament on the merits of an 18 year old they've never met but who is SURELY deserving of that scholarship (mom-ordered), or to talk about the miracles of childbirth, the lactation process and weening (sister-ordered), or even to write the loving speech of a father to his only/favorite daughter (mom-ordered - again), but that's where I am.  

I don't mind doing it.  With just a few short phrases from the, uh, donor, I can make one sound like the (insert chosen emotion here) person they really are (or mean to be).   But is this a talent. And if so - can I charge?

But I digress.  We had a demo today (via "Go to My Meeting") which was the end all of boringness.   I'm sure the men who were clicking and pointing on the other end of the net were relishing in their timekeeping system and as much as I knew that this was really a good thing - that timekeeping has to be a priority - it still didn't keep my eyes from crossing nor did it keep me from wandering into my own little imagination.   I realized, at one point, that something funny was said so I laughed and snorted with the rest of my crew.  I still don't know what was so funny.  Perhaps it was me.   I will never know. 

Harry takes his "Big Freakin' Test" on Monday.   Maybe by then things will have straightened out - for the both of us.   Maybe I'll have even found a way to charge for my somewhat-meaningful prose and pad my measly W-2 by next year!  

So - wish us luck - we're gonna need it.  

Especially him as he just stole my perfectly portioned-off piece of cake, ran into the living room and held me at bay with one size 13 foot planted right across my chest.   I screamed, I cajoled, I poured out real tears but nothing would make him release my sweet prisoner from his smiling, crumb-covered lips.   He eventually gave me the battered piece of cake back.  Sat it down on the table , scooted it toward me -  and then --- went and opened my last bottle of coveted Coca-cola.  

The bastard.   

I will get even.   

He has to go to sleep sometime... and I still have icing!!!  hahahaha!  

Wait - did that sound pervy?   

Ugh.  I suck at revenge.  

Wait - did that sound pervy, too?  :)