#1,629,547 in the series "Things I've Come to Know About Myself":
- I'm not as funny a blogger when my husband is around.
Seriously. He's wrecking my mojo. My sweet, delicious mojo.
But what's a girl to do? He's on vacation for another week!
You might wonder why the heck that should be a problem. Am I a clandestine blogger, slinking around in the shadows behind my husband's back? Is he unaware of my cyber activities?
No. He's well aware of my blog. Almost too aware. His most commonly used phrase this quarter: "You're not going to blog that, are you?"
The problem is, my response is usually something like this: "Well, of course, I am! It's comic gold, baby!"
This answer does not sit well with the highly private person that is my husband. He doesn't like our dirty laundry aired for all the world to see. And, to be fair, I didn't really know I was a dirty laundry airer until I started this blog a few months ago. I'm generally not much for idle gossip. But some stuff is just too good to pass up.
As I've written in my writers' group blog, I can't write when someone is reading over my shoulder. Just can't. Writing is a process. Even something as trivial as a daily blog post goes through a few edits and rewrites before it's unleashed on the unsuspecting public.
And my husband? Over-the-shoulder reader. Big time.
Can you say pressure? You can't say snarky things about someone when they're reading them over your shoulder!
And snark? Well, that's sort of my bread and butter. Don't know if you could tell.
Now, why would it make a difference, you wonder, if he reads it while I'm writing it, or if he reads it after I've posted? Since this post is sadly lacking in analogies, I'll use one here: do you like people coming to your home WHILE you are cleaning, or after you're done?
Yeah, it's like that.
Hubby just doesn't get it.
This may be because he has been taken off guard a couple of times by the subject of my posts. I don't think I've ever shared anything that would make him die of embarrassment, but he certainly isn't fond of my repeated references to his vasectomy, or the time I called him a constipated Squidward.
Hey, what am I supposed to say? He's a ball of sunshine? Everyday with him is like riding a unicorn over a sugar-coated rainbow?
Not even I would read my blog then.
Don't get me wrong. I love my husband. I really do. But sometimes...
Sometimes I just wish he were illiterate.