I’ve always loved writing prompts. The more absurd, the better.
EXAMPLE: “You’re being chased through Central Park by a narcoleptic polar bear named Elliot. In 75 words or less, explain why his parents named him Elliot.”
I totally love that kind of assignment and could fill a gigabyte with stories of mom and dad bears poring over baby name books and other nonsense that will never earn me a dime.
This random introduction leads us to my latest blog post. I’ve joined a group of other mom bloggers who also love being given writing assignments as if we’re still in tenth grade. Like a gift swap at the office Christmas party, we each submitted an original writing prompt for someone around the room to “open and accept.”…..except there’s no wrapping paper and we’re all in different states. Karen, our super organized blog swap host, distributed the prompts based on an in-depth mom blogger matrix that took into account our writing styles, blood types, SAT scores and arrest records.
Right now, thanks to me, someone is writing an essay about which part of their body they’d like to win free cosmetic surgery for. The topic I’m writing about was submitted by followmehome.shellybean.com.
I love her writing. It’s funny, yet sort of sweet. And I can so very much relate to it.
The topic is………
Well, I’m not sure about you, Shellybean, but as a grown up, there are lots more things I wish I didn’t have to do than things I still want to do.
My husband would tell you that I haven’t grown up yet. In fact, I take great joy in doing kid-like things… like jumping in mud puddles, playing baseball with rotting oranges, watching two hours of Phinneas and Ferb and painting my nails with Liquid Paper. I don’t EVER want to get too old to skip down the sidewalk, sing “I Want a Hippopotamus for Christmas” at the top of my lungs and gargle my milk at the dinner table.
However, to be a cooperative blogger, I need to come up with something I wish I could still do…..and get away with it. (I added that last part). When I was a kid, I had absolutely no filter between my brain and mouth. Much to the chagrin of my family and local church members, anything that popped into my head, was quickly served up in the form of insults, family secret confessions, embarrassments and painfully awkward moments.
“My daddy says your teeth would make great potato peelers,” I announce to the lady passing the offering plate as my parents crumple with horror.
“Why do you always smell like peanut butter?” I blurt out to the third grade girl sitting next to me.
“I know you’re lying. Mama says you’ve got way more money than we do. You’re just too stingy with it.” a response to my grandmother when she said she couldn’t afford a new Barbie doll. Grandma spent Christmas with other relatives that year.
Needless to say, holding my tongue wasn’t among my verbal exercises. I wish I could still get away with speaking my mind. I so wish I could’ve told the rude, overstuffed gal giving me a terrible time this morning about my appointment that her power in life was limited to stuffing her face, picking her nose and being awful to customers. But darn it! I have a filter now! And I’m too worried about what others think of me. Or it’d be my luck, just as soon as I tell my witch neighbor to go to Hell, I’ll wind up needing a kidney transplant and she’ll be the only available match.
I’d love to be able to tell the woman who lies to me each week about how their service works that I know she’s lying. Not only do I know she’s a liar but she has Brillo pad hair too!!!! That would feel soooooooo good. But I can’t! Darn filter!
It doesn’t help that I work in marketing. Sales and marketing people have to be super nice to EVERYONE…..Twenty Four-blasted-Seven!!!!!!! Because of this we often develop uncontrollable twitches, become alcoholics and do volunteer work at demolition sites. To a good 91-percent of the population, my warmth is genuine. But to the rest….oh what fun I would have if that filter accidentally malfunctioned.
That’s the stuff sweet dreams are made of.