"But I Don't Want to be a Blogger!"

Who would read anything written by me UNLESS it was emailed directly to your inbox and I fooled you into thinking it was something from your boss? I mean c'mon, really? I can think of many other things I'd rather be doing than reading (or writing, quite frankly) someone's blog. I've never done it. Nope not once. I'm a virgin when it comes to blogging.

Well, I guess that's shot now, isn't it? (And everyone said it would be so memorable . . .)

And when I write I sound like Eyore. That can't be good for readers either. Who wants to read dribble authored by a stuffed donkey or your average-Joe Seattalite? But, since you're here and there's nothing on the 500 cable channels you pay for, your dishes and laundry are done, grocery shopping is completed and your cars are washed and topped off with gas, your children are all in bed with their schoolwork completed, you have no friends or family to call on the phone or to visit, you're showered, shaved and your fridge was recently cleaned out and the vacuuming is done . . . I guess you have time to read this.

Okay then. I get it. Now I need to write something worth reading. Something insightful. Something whitty. Perhaps something that will surprise or make you laugh or whatever. Okay then. I get it.

Here you go then - I love Amy Hutchins. In fact, I adore her. No, more than that - I want to be married to her forever. She is the epitome of the perfect woman and I am the LUCKIEST man alive.

That right there should cure my Eyore-syndrome.