Greg from Almost Iowa took up my challenge to write about his muse. The post took an unexpected turn… very funny. Here goes:
Our appointment was for 7:00 a.m. sharp but she didn’t stagger in until well after noon and then she flopped on the couch and moaned, “I need chocolate chip ice cream.”
That was the last thing I wanted to hear.
Three weeks ago, I banished a pail of chocolate chip ice cream to the freezer in the garage. Admittedly, it was a cruel thing to do to something that I loved so much but it was not really me who did it, rather it was my diet.
Now the bucket was calling my name and apparently its plaintive cries had captured my muse.
“Absolutely not,” I told her, “I am sticking to my diet.”
She wailed and shook uncontrollably.
“It is only ice cream,” I told her.
“Noooo,” she cried, “it is not. You are siding with HIM.”
“Yes, Discipline. He was my muse,” her lipped quivered as she tried to continue, “but we broke up.”
“A muse needs a muse?”
She struggled to speak through her tears.
“Tell me more,” I told her, “because I am writing about you.”
(Head over and see what happened: My Muse)