I had to admit it to My Man.
Like Charlie standing outside the sweet shop without money to buy a Wonka Bar, I was envious.
My Man had gotten The Golden Ticket of blogging. He had been Freshly Pressed.
My Man was excited, and rightly so. This was something he had been striving for since beginning blogging.
I admire him, because unlike me, he actually has blogging goals. I just kind of post an eclectic mess, in an extremely random fashion, thinking that maybe one day I’ll hit some sort of blogging payola.
My Man on the other hand, strives for a certain number of subscribers and views, and usually posts a certain number of days a week. He’s dedicated to his craft.
I’m just hanging around like Veruca, screaming every once in awhile like a spoiled brat, and licking the damn wallpaper.
And not only did I have to admit to My Man that the little green monster of envy had bitten my fat bottom when he was FP’d, I also had to admit to being visited by that damn thing called jealousy.
You know why? My Man has groupies.
I mean with a blog like his it’s to be expected. Every naughty little Catholic school girl for miles flocks to worship at his altar, led there by the search term, “What would Jesus Christ do?”. Wait. Maybe it was the search term, “What would Johnny Cash do?”. I always get that mixed up.
But Man In Black groupies, or “Sisters” with bad habits, either way, they adore him. They want to prostrate themselves and profess their undying devotion to his particular brand of religion. They’re willing to flagellate themselves in order to wash his feet, and kiss his ring, and open their mouths for him to place his “communion wafers” so delicately on their salivating tongues.
Bless him, I think, as I make the sign of the cross while kicking bitches out of the way to get to him, My Man is understanding of my envy of his Freshly Pressed status. As writers we all want to be acknowledged in that Golden Ticket way, and he doesn’t think I’m a slimy Slugworth to admit my envy of that status.
The jealousy he gets, but tells me it is quite unnecessary, as I am the only fat bottom girl who will lick his lolly.
And I’ve learned, that regardless of the female masses who adore him, at the end of the day, and the beginning, and in the middle, he’s My Man. He’s my Everlasting Gobstopper. He’s the one who every day, makes me feel like I’ve stolen a sip of a Fizzy Lifting Drink and that I can achieve new heights just because he’s there holding my hand.
***This is written all in good fun, as My Man is quite aware I am extremely proud of him, and adore his wicked sense of humor, his sexy brain, and also the python in his pants. He’s very talented, and I only hope I will have the pleasure of riding his coattails, and maybe a part of his anatomy, into a life filled with fame and fortune! And he is always there, supporting my writing, and as my muse. Some day, hopefully we will collaborate on a writing project, because we’re a dynamic duo and will kick some literary ass!