This is sort of a hodgepodge post with random bits mostly because I’m running around like a madwoman trying to get stuff done. There’s nothing like trying desperately to finish Christmas gifts that still need to be mailed and write a book with a fast approaching deadline. Guh. But I digress…and whine.
First the weird, I got a package addressed to me the other day from an Irish gift catalog. I thought it was odd since I hadn’t ordered anything from them, but I thought…okay, maybe it’s a gift from somebody. So, I opened it up and found three linen tea towels. Three identical linen tea towels
with a map of Ireland on them.
(For those who are wondering about the difference between a tea towel and a dish towel, here’s an illustration. Dish towels are small and usually made of terrycloth. Tea towel are about twice the size and made of linen. But they’re both handy for drying dishes. Tea towels are much more common in Europe, I think – you don’t see a lot of them in the states. But I digress. Again.)
My immediate thought was obviously, Fwuh? Why would anyone send me three of the same thing, so I looked at the invoice for a clue as to who’d sent them. According to that handy piece of paper, I sent them to me. I double checked the address. Yep. That’s where I live. I double checked the name. Yep. That was me. So confused.
So I called the company to find out WTF, and they insisted that I’d purchased the towels. I told them I was sure I hadn’t. The rep insisted some more. I denied some more. Then I remembered. No, not that I’d bought three identical tea towels. I remembered the other Bronwyn Green. The same one who terrified me when I was pregnant.
I went in for one of those non-stress tests when I was nine months pregnant with Corwin. I gave the receptionist my name and date of birth and the following conversation ensued.
Receptionist: Right. You’re having twins.
Me: The hell I am!
Receptionist: (squinting at the chart, then looking at my belly) Your due date is St. Patrick’s Day, right?
Receptionist: And your birthday is June 3rd?
Receptionist: (far too brightly) You’re having twins.
Me: Oh hell no! I’m so not having twins!
Receptionist: (less sure of herself, holds up a chart with an ultrasound picture) See? Twins.
Me: (bursting into horrible, sobbing, pregnant tears in a waiting room full of people) But I don’t want twins! I can’t handle twins. Don’t you understand? I have a two year old and seven daycare children at home. I can’t have twins! I will absolutely lose my mind! I don’t have that kind of energy. I can’t do it! You can’t make me!
And that’s when the nurse came out and told me it was time for my test.
We finally figured out that there was another Bronwyn Green who lives in my city, was also pregnant (with twins) and who shared my birthday. I’m guessing I got the tea towels meant for her. Better than her twins, though!
On to the awesome. I got a note from an awesome reader, Marianne, a few weeks ago about Maggie’s Mates and she mentioned that she hadn’t known that Yooper Menage was a subgenre of erotic romance. Needless to say, I cracked up! Then I realized, Marianne may have a point – particularly since Just Right is set in the UP, too. So, go Yooper Menage!
For those who are unfamiliar with the term yooper, it refers to someone who lives in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. You might be wondering what yoopers call those of us in the Lower Peninsula. Well, I tell you. We’re called trolls. ‘Cause we live “under” the bridge. But I digress. Yet again.
Anyway, I just wanted to say, “YAY, Marianne! Way to coin a new phrase!”
I’m sure there will be more YMs in the future – lol!