You know that insecure feeling when you come downstairs after the party, slithering on a wine soaked crushed samosa that obviously missed the eloquent mouth of some unknown drunk, who at the time, was the wittiest and most flattering intellectual in the world? For a moment you gaze around wondering how cobwebs could possibly suspend so many popper streamers until you remember that the spiders have had several months of freedom to weave silk ropes that could catch an anchor chain. And all because the lady is a novelist and does not do dusting. She also does not do ironing or checking of sell by dates on mundane produce. How can a pickled onion be out of date? Who did not know that 2007 was a vintage premier cru champagne year for bloody pickles?
This is a long way to explain that I had a bit of a party and that I know my life is being sucked into a femaelstrom of microwaved Swedish meatballs. Apparently Edgar Allan Poe first introduced the masculine form of the word into literature. I must start to get a grip. I get up in the morning in my furry dressing gown and check my sales, my blog comments, my facebook likes, my triberr karma rating, my Amazon chart position, my twitter re-tweets and my Goodreads reviews. I am become Electro-Fem, a Joan of Story Arc, a Romantic Grovelist at the keyboard shrine. Then I put on my woolly pully and go out driving my bus. Good job all the other motorists don’t know that the huge vehicle in their rear view is being driven by a neurotic self doubting ego maniac on a cobweb and pickled onion literary guilt trip. This life would not have happened to Jane Austen.
Somewhere in the fog of the party, an intellectual goatee beard type is reading the sell by date on my pickle jar and asking me what year it is. “Look”, I exclaim, “I’m an artist – how the hell should I know?”
Emma Undercover 
LOL, is there really such a thing as pickled onions?
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What good fun. I'm still laughing at myself. I don't have a furry dressing gown but my morning looks far too much like you've described. Then I think who the **#*!cares about all these crazy ratings. I feel like I back in grade school. Keep on with your satire, before any of us make the mistake that any of this matters. Great writing!
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Emma – I loved this post. Now I don't feel nearly as bad about the lack of housekeeping I do.
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LOL. Too funny. Sounds like, I think, you are a very busy person. A good thing, I think. LOL.
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I want to ride the bus in the seat right behind your driver's chair. I bet it's a hoot. Keep on writing, Emma!
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Awesome post! So funny and beautifully written! The imagery is excellent!
Congratulations on your writing success! From just this post, I can say it's well deserved.
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