Crusader Challenge #1 (check out Rach Writes to play along): In 300 words or less, tell us: one secret, one lie, one interesting quirk, one annoying habit, one of your best character traits, and one of your favorite things in the whole world. The post can be in any format, including poetry (for those poets among us), but must include the random words, “bloviate,” “fuliguline,” “rabbit,” and “blade”. Finish your post with something along the lines of, “I may have revealed something about me that isn’t strictly true, can you guess what it is?”
I didn’t realize how freaky of a person I was until I completed this task. But the sad thing is, any other answers would just make things worse. I read it to my husband and he said, “Yeah, that about sums you up all right.”
Great.
So here goes. It is what it is (and just as a note of clarification, I promise I’m a good and decent person):
If I itch, I will scratch until I bleed. The trigger that says, “STOP” is missing in me, disappeared eight years ago around the time of my daughter’s birth. I trim my nails (per my dermatologist) to keep the ten tiny blades in check. Annoying? Heck yeah. Just ask my husband.
“Just don’t scratch,” he says.
“It doesn’t work that way,” I say.
I tend to bloviate in my sleep, and I night walk too. I can hold full conversations, and I’ve been known to make it halfway down the hall before waking up. Scary? Heck yeah. Just ask my husband.
“Where are you going?”
“Not . . . sure . . .” I crawl back into bed.
When I was four, I dressed up as Bugs Bunny for Halloween (you know, the rascally rabbit that Elmer Fudd hated?) but I really wanted to be a princess instead. I think my mom got a deal on the costume. My mother has pictures of me with my friend Amy who is a beautiful angel—halo and all. I was jealous. I thought I looked like a boy.
My father is a fuliguline collector and displays his collection over his mantle. My mother collects thimbles and blown glass figures. I, given no other choice because collecting is my genes, collect vintage purses and costume jewelry. I loved my grandmother’s clutches and clip on earrings, so I started buying my own. I don’t use them. But I have them. I just love the 50’s.
I love peanut butter and mustard sandwiches with vinegar salt chips on the side (try it, you’ll like it), snorkeling in blue Hawaiian waters, escaping into a good book, and making people belly laugh. Ask anyone who knows me. It’s all true.
Except, maybe not. I may have revealed something about me that isn’t strictly true, can you guess what it is?
I didn’t realize how freaky of a person I was until I completed this task. But the sad thing is, any other answers would just make things worse. I read it to my husband and he said, “Yeah, that about sums you up all right.”
Great.
So here goes. It is what it is (and just as a note of clarification, I promise I’m a good and decent person):
If I itch, I will scratch until I bleed. The trigger that says, “STOP” is missing in me, disappeared eight years ago around the time of my daughter’s birth. I trim my nails (per my dermatologist) to keep the ten tiny blades in check. Annoying? Heck yeah. Just ask my husband.
“Just don’t scratch,” he says.
“It doesn’t work that way,” I say.
I tend to bloviate in my sleep, and I night walk too. I can hold full conversations, and I’ve been known to make it halfway down the hall before waking up. Scary? Heck yeah. Just ask my husband.
“Where are you going?”
“Not . . . sure . . .” I crawl back into bed.
When I was four, I dressed up as Bugs Bunny for Halloween (you know, the rascally rabbit that Elmer Fudd hated?) but I really wanted to be a princess instead. I think my mom got a deal on the costume. My mother has pictures of me with my friend Amy who is a beautiful angel—halo and all. I was jealous. I thought I looked like a boy.
My father is a fuliguline collector and displays his collection over his mantle. My mother collects thimbles and blown glass figures. I, given no other choice because collecting is my genes, collect vintage purses and costume jewelry. I loved my grandmother’s clutches and clip on earrings, so I started buying my own. I don’t use them. But I have them. I just love the 50’s.
I love peanut butter and mustard sandwiches with vinegar salt chips on the side (try it, you’ll like it), snorkeling in blue Hawaiian waters, escaping into a good book, and making people belly laugh. Ask anyone who knows me. It’s all true.
Except, maybe not. I may have revealed something about me that isn’t strictly true, can you guess what it is?
