"Maybe," I reply cautiously. "So. You, um . . . you read it occasionally?"

"Once every couple of weeks," he responds.

"Oh."

There is a pause, and then I announce, "you know what would be good? If you gave me, like 24-48 hours' notice before you went to my website."

"Whyyyyyyyy?" he draws the syllable out. Slowly. Deliberately.

"Because, then, um . . . then I'd be able to make sure the content was, like . . . really good. So you'd . . . um. So you'd be impressed."

I did not, of course, secure any such agreement. So either I clean up all the references to my family herein, or I find myself on a sort of psychological/electronic frontier for the rest of my life.

Probably the latter. Because . . . really—who has time to look through his/her archives?

Posted by: Attila Girl at 11:01 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
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