So, the other day, Scott says to me,"My mom said she liked the picture of the chickens."
I said, "Oh, good! I thought it was pretty cute."
"You know, she reads your blog."
He said this like it was breaking news. I blinked. "Yep. So does her sister. And my sister. And maybe some other family, too. I don't say anything unflattering, I promise."
"Oh, I'm not worried about that. I don't care what you say, I haven't read you blog in forever. Since the 2008 election."
And that pleasant and nonchalant exchange, I believe, equals permission to write about whatever I'd like to write about. That I secretly wish I was three inches taller. Or that my daughter ran around last night with just one pigtail in. That I think Brad Pitt is a terrible actor. Or that I think dark chocolate is da bomb.
It's just too damn bad I have no juicy secrets...