And no, we’re not talking about her waistline. Miss CP has been having SUCH a swell time (especially around the ankles, groan) that she’s going to look beyond the measly writing life and weigh in on regular old life. With a day job. You know, the one writers everywhere are trying to escape?
It won’t be difficult to translate all the unfortunate events she’s faced in writing to encompass the unfortunate events Miss Cranky encounters each morning by just getting out of bed. Right? So far in this post she’s referred to her failed diet in several sneaky ways. Oh come on. That “I’m so overweight I can’t see my feet” gig has been done to death. Preferably done to Death by Chocolate. What else has she got? Let’s follow Miss CP on an ordinary day:
8AM Miss Cranky takes her usual morning paper with a cup of coffee and a side of feline. Melchior, the 30 pound cat, manages to sprawl atop her editorial page every single day. And does he recline on top of the bad columnists? No. He somehow knows exactly which part Miss CP is reading and lounges atop those very words. A cat on the table you say? YOU try shooing a thirty pound cat. He’ll spill your coffee every time.
12PM Miss Cranky settles in to catch up on email, facebook and twitter. The cats track muddy paws all over the floor, open doors (but never close them) and brawl like beer besotted bullies that they are. Meh. Does she give a rip that the dishwasher is full and that there haven’t been any clean clothes for a week? She does not! Besides, now that she has that guldurned smarty-pants phone, she’s constantly checking it to see which ad she needs to erase. How does Google know she wants a blender for Christmas? She hasn’t told a soul! This is spooky stuff.
6PM Miss Crankypants is tired. She doesn’t feel like cooking, especially since the only clean dishes belong to the cats. But her husband thinks she eats bon bons all day instead of tending to her wifely duties. Oh! She knows! She’ll order Chinese and then pour all the stuff from those white boxes into attractive dishes. Her family will never guess! She may have to hide the fortune cookies, or else the cats will rat her out. They want Beef Fat Yuk and they want it now! Melchior threatens to park himself on her head tonight if she won’t fork over the pan fried noodles. She is shaking in her boots!
8PM Miss Crankypants says her prayers and falls into bed. It occurs to her that this ordinary life closely resembles her writing life: a series of fails punctuated by criminal cat antics that are giving her premature gray hair, sagging jowls and a poochy tummy. Maybe this expansion idea isn’t going to work, but until she proves it, she’ll keep the package of bon bons close by. Would someone kindly remove this cat from her head?