Me: I was looking at that thing I wrote as a blog without the excerpt or a blog without our back and forth dialogue.
Becky: I’m a bit confused as to exactly what you’re trying to communicate…
Me: I didn't mean to send the blog I sent, I thought I'd changed it already. Never mind.
I’m tellin’ ya, I feel sorry for Becky sometimes, especially after conversations such as the one above. We’ve been writin’ on this story for over a year, and I’m sure I’ve driven that girl half crazy. Sure, she’s a trip sometimes, too, but at least she started out with some sense.
My writing doesn’t come out real smooth sometimes, but she can usually fix it. I try to get it right, I really do, but when I hit spell check, a box pops up and says, “What kind of moron are you?”
And grammar? I throw in commas like I’m shuffling a deck of cards and slap in periods at random. A semi colon? Is that a colon with 16 wheels?
My point is… Becky ain’t got it easy, keepin’ me around for a writin’ partner. Sure, I’m a smooth talker and easy on the eyes, but I picture her headin’ straight to the medicine cabinet after our weekly meeting, poppin’ some pills, puttin’ an ice pack on her head and cursin’ the day she met me.
I’m not sayin’ I’m a complete idiot, but when I accidentally say something intelligent she does give me a double-take. Why in the world would she want to put up with so much crap when she can simply write it herself in half the time it takes to figure out what I wrote? I still don’t know.