Booty Call

On one of our rare sunny evenings, I was driving along a side street in my neighborhood.  It being May, the opened pink tree blossoms were especially cheerful, giggling and bouncing in the sunlight.  Perhaps it was sparked by a sunray, but I suddenly felt a surge.

It was an overwhelming full-body buzz that made me feel young and floaty.  It was familiar, yet far away, and it took me a minute to recognize the feeling as being in love.  As during those early weeks where everything reminds you of him.  When your belly smiles at the sight of his name.

But it wasn’t a man I was thinking of.  It was blogging.  (I know.  What can I say.  I’m trying to make this blog honest.)

Then I thought of how perfect it was to be in love with it.  It’s there when you need it.  It’s yours alone.  It can’t reject you.  You can tell it stories for hours on end and it will listen.  You don’t need to say to your husband, “I can explain!” when you’re caught in bed with your laptop. 

And unless you have many readers (I thank both of you), there’s little pressure to commit.  Just the occasional booty call when you’re in the mood.