Happy Anti-Valentine's Day, Everyone! Join the party over at The Faux Fountain Pen with Sarah Foster and bring your muse.
Me: Hi Sarah! How are you? And Jordan? How's it going? Clyde has something he wants to give you guys. He'll be here in a jif. He just had to park down the street a bit, because his fishing boat is hitched to his truck.
Clyde (running up to the door carrying a large box): Howdy folks! Sorry about the last party. I broke one of yer lamps. Completely by accident, I swear.
Me: While table-dancing in a hula skirt if I remember correctly--
Clyde: Well, at least I wasn't holding up the wall the entire time, Violet! And no wonder. Who's gonna ask you to dance when you're wearing yet another Life Is Good t-shirt and jeans?
Me: Well at least my shirt is pink. The only red you got going is those ketchup stains on your flannel shirt.
Clyde: I'll have you know this is my best flannel shirt. Here Sarah, (ripping open box and letting loose a million styrofoam peanuts into the room), you're gonna love this.
Me: The leg lamp from A Christmas Story? I'm speechless, Clyde.
Clyde: It's a collector's item, Delores Downer! And one heck of a lot better than those worthless bricks of candy you brought.
Me: Ghirardelli chocolates with caramel are delicious, you backwater bumpkin. You just can't chew them without losing your dentures.
Clyde: I don't have dentures!
Me (twitching my nose like Samantha from Bewitched): Actually, you do. Consider them my Valentine's Day gift to you.
Clyde (giving me the finger): And here's mine to you, Doll-face.
Me: Wow! Now that's romantic!
Clyde (grinning and nearly knocking me over with an over enthusiastic elbow in the ribs): Speaking of romance, why don't we make sure everyone's got a drink and play Spin the Bottle, the fun way.
Me: I almost too scared to ask.
Clyde: It's simple, Simone. You spin the bottle and whoever it points too, you switch drinks and take a swig. Anyone spits, they're out. I always top my beer off with a cup of milk just to make thing interesting.
Me: Um, I think I'll pass. That game would spread germs faster than a rabid rhesus monkey with diarrhea.
Clyde: Talking about a pet of yours, Priscilla?
Me: Ha! With a muse like you, who needs pets?
Clyde: Hey? Wait! (Picks up a handful of styrofoam peanuts and crumbles them). Look! I made confetti! Easter's right around the block. How about the Confetti Egg Game? Where you going?
Me: Home! I need to start writing letters of apology to our host and the other guests. This is going to be a long night.
Clyde grew up in Honea Path, SC, back when color TV was a big deal. His mom was first a schoolteacher and later principal of Whitehall Elementary, his father was in the armed services, and his older brother Dillan, or Dill, used to (in his words, not mine) beat the p*** out of him. He's rude, crude, and totally uncalled for, but as a muse, he does a great job at kicking me in the tail when I need it.
Image Courtesy: Håkon Iversen Photog
So how would you describe your muse? Naughty or nice?