I love my husband.
He came into the house yesterday, grinning that grin. I know that grin. It’s what transformed me from, ‘I’m NEVER getting married, or having more kids!” to being a wife, and having another four.
That grin gets me in a lot of trouble, and causes any hardened resolve to turn into paste. Makes me completely weak in the knees…and the head, apparently.
So, between my heart pounding in my ears, hyperventilation, and ovaries starting to rev their engines, there’s a thread of anxiety that happens…along the lines of, “Oh shit…Twelve years in, and he STILL does this to you. Girl, you’re screwed…” flashes through my head in a nanosecond.
“I was outside, and this came for you. I signed for it.” he announced, whipping a cardboard package from behind his back.
A BOOK shaped cardboard package.
Instantly, my head cleared, my hormones simmered down, and my ovaries shut the hell up.
Was it? Really? Could it be?
I snatched that package out of his hands with a little more grace and finesse than a rabid coyote going after a rabbit.
Started tearing at the cardboard.
Wolf and Diva watched in amazement.
“Holy crap…” Wolf commented, “I’m surprised she’s not using her teeth.”
“Shut up, Dad,” Diva muttered, “Or she’ll tear your throat out next.”
The package finally gave way.
And there it was.
And it was glorious.
Ok, not just my book. A whole whack of talented folks contributed to it, but damn it, it’s the FIRST book I’ve been in.
Holy old cheezits. It really happened.
What, you can’t see that? Hang on a sec…See it now?
Tazzie asked to see it, and held out his hands. I snarled, and may have threatened death, destruction, and dismemberment if he laid even a single finger on it.
Sorry, not sorry. The only way to keep things from being completely destroyed is by keeping it out of the hands of children. At least, my children.
I’ve now read it, cover to cover, and have it safely stashed on top of the fridge, out of the reach of even the most inventive climbers.
I’ve been able to resist, just barely, pulling a Lion King move, and running through the neighbourhood, screaming, “BEHOLD! I AM A PUBLISHED AUTHOR! THIS IS THE BOOK!”
I make absolutely no guarantees as to what will happen when I finish writing my first novel, and see THAT sucker in print though.
And, by request, a pic of me with the book.