Dear Cyberspace,
I tried to break up with you.
Actually, it was more like a forced separation.
Something reminiscent of a chick named Juliet and her main squeeze...who was not family approved.
I was starting to wonder if you were family approved.
And so I thought about a break.
You know...
Some space,
To evaluate our relationship.
Just a move across town.
Actually, across town may as well have been across the universe.
Because that's what it felt like.
And apparently my wireless connection doesn't reach that far.
Or at least some telecommunications company
Which shall remain unnamed, but starts with the letter V,
Told me that it wouldn't reach that far
And that I would have to pay a sizeable chunk of change to reinstate our relationship.
So
Snip,
It was over.
I tried to forget you.
I tried to court other habits.
But then I found myself staying up at night, stalking you through my husband's phone.
And I realized that,
Shoot,
Fleecing of America or not,
I really could not go a day longer without our connectivity.
But you didn't make it easy on me.
I don't blame you.
And I will be paying for my wandering heart for the next two years.
Serves me right.
But,
Together we are again,
At last.
1 comment:
I love your sense of humor.
In fact. Yesterday I was recounting a funny memory I have of you. This memory was sparked by the cock-a-doodle-do that I hear coming from my back yard and the sad fate that awaits our rooster.
I must apologize, because I have told so many people about this funny story.
There we were...... on the Pioneer Youth Trek, disgusted at the thought of killing a perfectly wonderful turkey. Thank Goodness James Maybe was in our family so the lady folk didn't have to take care of the dirty work. Or so I thought. Then began the plucking chore and I found myself repulsed and trying hard not to think about it's amateur butchering.....when here comes Andi bouncing up the path with a turkey foot in hand. She gets right up close to my face and then pulls on the tendon hanging out the bottom of the detached turkey foot. The turkey foot goes OPEN CLOSE OPEN CLOSE and Andi is just thrilled. So it's off to the next person. And I return to the traumatizing chore of plucking.
(which apparently I get to do again) Maybe my kids won't be so upset when the rooster dies if I give them their own chicken foot back scratcher.
???
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