I told HoneyBunch that I was
going to attempt writing a blog every day for one month. Some of my writer friends attempt it
throughout the year and I wanted to try it also.
Being the slouch that I am, I
chose February, the shortest month of the year, thinking I was being a smarty
pants.
Wouldn’t you know it, this is
leap year, and February has 29 days.
Aargh.
I told HoneyBunch I was going to
write 29 entries about “love” (cue: Barry White music in the background), but HB
wasn’t listening. He was more interested
in leap year.
When
did we start counting leap year? When was
the first leap year? Do all countries
around the globe have a leap year?
He
totally killed the romantic mood I was trying to explain and I stuttered to
answer his questions. (Stop playing Can’t Get Enough of You
Baby. Cue: Theme to Close Encounters of
the Third Kind)
“Stop
interrupting me.” I say.
“But
your readers will ask.”
“This
wasn’t the direction I was going with my 29 days.”
“What
could you possibly have to say about love that would take 29 days?”
“Hide
and watch, HoneyBunch. Hide and watch.”
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