— So I came home at 5, refilled the water tank using the special new shelf you built, got the MudDood’s battery plugged in so it can charge, chopped a little tinder, got a fire going in the woodstove, plucked some kale from the garden and made some dinner, got the salmon marinating, and am now settling in to write.
— Do you have nothing to complain about?
— Only that I wish you were here.
— But nothing to complain about Cooter Hollow?
— No, everything’s working right now.
— You need to write a post on your blogh so that we can forever remember the day you had nothing to complain about.
— Come on! All my posts are about how much I love Cooter Hollow!
— Oh, and also, while you’re writing that blogh post, you should note that the headlights of the MudDood work just fine, that you mistook the switch.
— Okay, okay, yes, I’ll write it. Jesus!
— You also need to mention that you exaggerate in the retelling phase, just a little, and that the way you’ve transcribed this conversation you’re worried that I might come across as a little bit of a dick. And you’re worried that your readers won’t get that when we gibe like this, it’s all in good fun. But I understand it can be tough to get that across if you’re just doing a transcription.
— But I don’t have readers, other than you.
— Wait a second! I never said “gibe.” You just made that up.
— I just made all of it up! (I mean, not all of it, not the part about it being a beautiful evening with wood in the fire and fresh vegetables in the belly.)
See, he needs to stop reading the blogh. Does he not fully understand that one person’s aggrieved exaggeration might be another’s art, especially in the retelling?
I think my husband tuned out of my blog somewhere mid-2007. It’s been a good thing.