So this morning, in celebration of having managed to submit the manuscript of Monster Rules on time, I made cinnamon buns. Not from scratch, but those Pillsbury ones that come in that cool cardboard tube that pops open. As the aroma of the baking buns filled my little apartment, I happened to catch sight of my cell phone. And I picked it up. (This is not a common occurrence unless I need a scrabble fix and I’m nowhere near my laptop). Then I text messaged my loving husband with:

“I made cinnamon buns. I’m soooo not sharing.”

Which is evil of me, because working freelance I can lounge around in my jammies as I process and write and study, while he’s stuck working at a cubicle farm. But as we all know, I am pharmaceutical-grade evil, and far be it from me to be otherwise.

Anyway, Nathan texts me back with:

“Fuck you, bitch, I want my rolls!”

Successfully making me laugh, my loving husband managed, in fact, to get me to keep some rolls (most of them, actually) for him. However, I’ve hidden them in an unlikely container in the fridge and it’s up to him to find them.

Categories: distracted, writing