If you met me

Have you ever heard of this little thing called 5 Minute Friday? Gypsy Mama's taken it on and today, at this moment, I feel like taking the bait.

Here's the scoop:
Got five minutes? Let’s write. Let’s write in shades of real and true and unscripted. Let’s just write and not worry if it’s just right or not. Write for 5 minutes flat for pure unedited love of the written word. Then link it back up @ The Gypsy Mama.


Ok. Here goes. Ready, set... ... GO

If you met me...

I'd wonder if you'd noticed my crazy finger nail polish today. And if you thought it looks like a Stripper's nails, too. Or that only one hand was painted. And that my pinkie was slighty more greenish.

I'd wonder if you thought I looked the the hurricane I feel like when I walk into a room.

You'd probably ask how many children I have, then gasp when I told you the number, and ask me "How do you do it?"

You'd see a pony tail. And jeans. A girl not too trendy. (A girl who thinks she's too fat to really be trendy.)

You'd find yourself plagued with questions from someone who wants to know more about you. Sometimes I call it nosy. Sometimes I just say that I'm curious. Where you're from, kids/no kids, job, why are you here, do you like lemons, who's your hairdresser. The norm. Really, I do just want to know more about you.

I might be distracted by my children. Or, I might be letting them run asunder so that I could have a conversation that didn't include listening to whining (I hope).

You might sense my need to have adult contact.

Oops. 8 Minutes. Sue me.

I guess that's it. Bummer. I'm trying to procrastinate cleaning my house just a bit longer. Ho hum. Laundry here I come.