NaBloPoMo, National Blog Posting Month, is just seeing the dawn of its third day and I have already managed to embarrass myself into being declared a winner.
Not that the point of the daily post-fest has anything to do with competition; in fact, the camaraderie building feels comfortably non-comptetitve and I’ve yet to see any announcement of prizes for “most compelling post on recipes using feta” or “best tips on cable knits”.
No, I won’t see any award, but kudos are coming, nonetheless, with one poster stating emphatically, “You win for the BEST story I’ve heard in a long time!” while another is shamelessly “*bowing deeply and kissing Sandra’s big toe in attitude of adoration*”.
To what do I owe these accolades so long coveted?
My big, fat mouth and my most embarrassing moment.
I should have known that any distinction I’d ever manage to achieve would end up having something to do with my innate talent for offensive verbosity, as even when trying really hard to make nice I oh-so-often end up leading an unintentional pas de deux that stumble-starts with a faux pas … a faux pas de deux, so to speak.
That’s what first attracted me to the topic … the discussion is here … a title that told me I could really get my teeth into this one: How Does Your Foot Taste?
The story I recounted for my new NaBloPoMo pals has been told before. I fessed up big time on one of my pro blogs a couple of years ago, but this seemed a perfect opportunity to trot it out again.
If you’ve not yet heard my “Ugly Baby Story”, check out either link, or both, for the whole train wreck. If after doing so you would like to join the ranks of those presently bestowing approbation upon me for my mortifying blunder …
Line on the left, one slap each.
A collection of my short stories:
I'm in this one, too ...
And I'm in here, as well ...
Paradise Preoccupied 