If you happened to be on fb two weeks ago, your news feed may have suffered an overload from one of my statuses (sorry Ian!). If you missed all the fun though, please enjoy the edited, picture version here (no, I am not going to subject myself to retyping all 83 comments, you'll just have to go back to the status if you want the whole story). Catherine and I created a delightfully fictitious bar, where men are gentleman: they give you their seat and they buy you a drink. More importantly, they are all gorgeous and famous and rich and heroic. (Is that too much to ask for?) In the beginning, I said Archie Goodwin should be there. No sooner had I suggested this than Catherine claimed him in a most selfish manner, stating: "I get him. Because I knew about him first and because h is long standing girlfriend was a blonde so therefore he'll pick me anyways." ... First I countered with: " GAH. FINE. be that way. but you know Archie had brunettes on the sid...
This is the Tale of Mr. Stinkerbutt, his sudden transformation into the awful Gigas Mus, and his untimely demise. Once upon a time, in a charming townehouse situated at the outskirts of a large county, there lived four beautiful damsels called Erin, Gina, Meg and Me -- and one squatter called Mr. Stinkerbutt. For the first few months that the girls occupied the house, they were blissfully unaware of Mr. Stinkerbutt's presence. Alas such ignorance could not last forever! One chilly morning in winter, Meghan discovered she was unable to eat her last bagel for breakfast, because Someone Else had devoured it betwixt dusk and dawn, leaving only crumbs in the bag in the closet. This was our very first introduction to that gluttonous, pilfering soul, Mr. Stinkerbutt. Shortly thereafter, he made a second attack against our closet. He seemed to favour Meg's shelf, shunning the dried goods on every other shelf, and nommed a giant hole into her loaf of bread. Me...
Many years ago, when I was a tiny pipsqueak of a child, I played make-believe all the time. As I grew to be a little bigger, my worlds of make-believe didn't so much dwindle as become more complex and sophisticated. By the time I was a teenager, I put dress-up behind me with childish things, but fantasy was still alive and well. In fact, fantasy worlds and egos are a rather integral part of my person and occasionally this is expressed in overt ways - playing Cowboys and Indians with my friends in Georgia, or Puck running around clear as day, for example. But for as real as fantasy is, it has never wandered into the realm of Reality... until one day two years and seven odd weeks (give or take a handful of days) ago when I was invited into Someones Else's world of make-believe and dress-up, and found out that it was actually a different dimension of Real Life. When I was little, my friends and I were always going on adventures, exploring, digging to China, buildi...
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