Well, not death. That's a little morbid.
Oh, yeah! That's much less melodramatic. Perfect.
Sadly, I appear to be a far less compelling protagonist than Ollie Twist or Tiny Tim. I think it's safe to say my husband, though not in the same league as ol' Ebenezer, may well be his distant cousin twice removed. The man has very little sympathy for weak, wretched creatures such as myself.
If not for the fact that even in this compromised state I can wipe the floor with his sorry ass in Guitar Hero, I would take very little comfort in his meager efforts.
That's not to say he's a bad man, or a bad husband. Merely a bad sympathizer. Nurturing is not his forte.
Alas, it falls on you, dear friends, to lift my fallen spirits, and you have done the job admirably and with much aplomb. (There's one for Scrabble!)
Why, just today I read with great mirth this post from Holly wherein she has tagged me for a meme which I had very much been coveting.
(Okay, so I solicited the tag. I mean, what's a girl got to do to get a little meme action? The good ones, of course. Not the stupid ones. Those you can tag Mike with. He never does them anyhow.)
The rules :
1. Pick up the nearest book (of at least 123 pages).
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the next three sentences.
5. Tag five people & post a comment here once you post it to your blog, so I can come see.
Now, I have been waiting with bated breath for someone--anyone--to tag me with this particular meme because, as most of you know, I have a lot of books with cheesy covers and heaving bosoms, and more likely than not, one of them will be within easy reach of my computer. And believe me when I say, there is no better comedy than three lines out of these books taken out of context. Seriously. Especially the older Harlequins. They're like turning on Lifetime channel movies in the middle and hearing, Give me this night, these hours of passion's embrace, before we surrender to our fates forever, and you can't help but laugh because, good Lord, that's corny!
But not, as it turns out, on page 123.
No, page 123 must be universally known in the romance genre as "The Page in Which Nothing Interesting Shall Ever Happen. EVER."
Not one mention of heaving this or throbbing that. No, page 123 may as well be written by my accountant. No wait--by his accountant! (Yes, I'm aware that's probably still him. I'm working on an analogy of the blandness of the words here, people. And what's blander than an accountant's accountant? I'd like to know.)
I went through every romance I own just to be sure.
Okay, I know. I'm supposed to quote from the nearest book to me, and that happened to be "Come Back to Me" by Josie Litton:
"Everyone speaks very well of the jarl. I believe he and Lord Hawk are fast friends."
"Friendship between Norse and Saxon seems much the fashion these days."
Oh, that IS rich! I stand corrected.
I can only hope Jill, Terri, Groovy Mom, Maria, and...um...Mike have as much luck as I have had with this one, because TAG, you're all it!
And thanks again for the privilege, Holly! You sure do know how to make a girl feel special. If only until the Sudafed wears off.