There was fuming. The smacking of the lips, shaking of the head and arm swagger would have rivaled my mother in her, “you’ve disappointed me” period of 1981 until 2010. I’m not even lying when I tell you I ate the entire bag of double-fudge Milano cookies. THE ENTIRE BAG. Subsequently, I’m feeling a bit queasy and I’m happy in a chocoholic-coma. And thank god for that, let me tell you.
The entire evening went like this, fragments and all: Read something she posted. Realize the sentence is lifted from an article I wrote months ago, eat a double-fudge Milano cookie. Repeat. Email friends back in disbelief, grab an iced tea to wash down enemy cookies while gaining back all my baby weight and ensue uncontrollable rage with my fingertips as drumsticks of pure and utter blogging DOOM. Eat cookies. Rage. Drink highly-sugared soft drinks, rage. Smile at the fact that at least my dishes are done. Rage. Do you sense a pattern? You’ll hear me and notice the way I softly look myself in the eye, shake my head and say, “This, Kate- is why we cannot have nice things in the house to eat.” This is why Gushers have been forbidden since the time that one boyfriend dumped me BEFORE I was able to accurately see he was totally with my best girlfriend the entire time. (They have a lovely son.)
In the end, nothing held me back from hitting, “Post.” I’m not entirely sure why I didn’t. The only thing I am sure about is that, as sharp as my tongue was, as Mama Bear for my brand I stood, I couldn’t get over the disappointment that it had all happened. How long have women been writing, free of pen names or false titles to make their words more ‘legitimate?’ I promise, there are enough ideas on the vastness of the human mind and vowels, syllables and analogies to offer true originality to any subject. For goodness sakes: I can go to four different celebrity blogging sites and hear four, distinctly different voices. If they can do it? There is hope for you, young skywalker. Never, ever copy content from a national columnist. It’s searchable. They teach us that in journalism 101.
Stop stealing my stuff. I sent you a nice email.
There’s my smacking of the lips and, “I’m just so darn disappointed,” face. See? I am becoming my mother.
This “Eat the cookies, write the post” strategy is working for you. Nicely done. Grace intact. Proud of you!
The sad thing is that if she had given credit where it was due you may be singing her praises at this point and helping her to build up her own brand. Her loss sister!