Be-Mused — Karen Templeton

School’s closed for Veteran’s Day, so Dad and Mom slept in. Actually I got up at 6, wandered groggily around cyberspace for a while, then went back to bed. Next thing I knew, it was 9:30. And let me tell you something, it’s moments like that when I do not, in any way, shape, form or fashion, miss having little kids/babies in the house. I just miss the little kids/babies. They were fun. Getting up at six a.m. was not.

Had a bizarre dream, this one involving one of my books. Dreamt I got my first Russian translation, a weird little hardback with a picture of some decked-out princely dude on the back, very 1964. So I figured it was one of my royalty books. Wrong. Apparently, judging from my hero’s name (Rod Bradenov !!), it was ANYTHING FOR HER MARRIAGE. Granted, Rod was a prince among men, but the regalia was a bit much.

And if I get copies of a Russian translation today, I’m gonna freak.

A couple items in the AOL headlines are worthy of comment, just because I can. One was the headline “Little luxuries you can afford — $200. and under gifts for everyone on your list.” Okay, in my book? A “little” luxury is an 18 buck box of chocolates. By the time you get to $200., you’re verging into you’re-my-slave-for-life category. Although judging by the prices in many of these catalogues that will keep finding their way to our house, I guess lots of folks drop that kind of money on a single gift (the number of toys over $100. is astounding!). I just don’t know any of these people. Perhaps I should work on that.

The other I’m-not-even-gonna-go-there article was an invitation to see Heidi Klum’s post-pregnancy body. Now, really, why would I do that? Or are they trying to plunge 20 million women into simultaneous depression?

Have to make a decision about my blog today, so any input from y’all would be helpful. I’m going to make it “official” by making it part of my website, but I’m not sure what “extras” to consider. I don’t want to make this too fancy — I don’t think it’s necessary — but are there doo-dads and gee-gaws on other peoples’ blogs that you really feel enhances the experience, making it easier to participate? Would you like to be able to subscribe, for example, so you’d get a notice when I’d added an entry? Do you like a banquet of smilies from which to choose?

Let me know.

For several weeks, a strange, pink, obviously-meant-for-a-guy (even though it’s pink) T-shirt has been keeping the box of Splenda, basket of drawing stuff from #5, dust bunnies and super-sized jug of Snuggle company on our dryer. Today, #3 comes to me, shirt in hand, to say that, yes, it’s his, but — he says his father asks — would I like it to sleep in?

Huh???

Never, not once in twenty-seven years of marriage, have I slept in a T-shirt. How can the father of my children, who has slept beside me for that entire twenty-seven years, not know this???

But I exacted my revenge later. You see, my husband has a sneeze that rivals a call used to begin a cattle drive, usually delivered with no warning, when my back is turned. That I have withstood, in the last twenty-seven years, roughly 8,756 of these sneezes without having a coronary is a miracle in itself. Well, tonight I got him back, thanks to a brain-rattling sneeze of my own, three feet away from him while he was washing dishes.

God, that felt good.

On a completely different subject. . . For reasons known only to my publisher, they decided to re-issue an English (as in, British) edition of PLAYING FOR KEEPS last month under the title SEX IN THE SUBURBS, Vol. 2 (Vol. 1 being Jennifer Skully’s black comedy for HQN, SEX AND THE SERIAL KILLER. Don’t ask, it wouldn’t do you any good, anyway.). So today my obligatory three copies land in my mailbox. Now normally I never read the my books once they’re in print, because I’m neurotic enough without finding goofs in the final product that I can’t change. But for whatever reason, I happened to open this book, of course immediately spotting a place where the copy editor changed something, I asked to have it changed back, but somebody decided to let the CE’s change stand.

The heroine’s ex is this very down-to-earth, blue-collar Hispanic guy. Not exactly crass, but not what you’d call polished, either. In response to a jibe from the heroine, his response was supposed to be, “Jesus.” CE changed it to “Jeez.” I stetted it, but. . .there it is.

And whose name is on the cover again?

Jeez. . .us.