KATE'S BABY BUMP DIARY!

figs.

No, this is not about Kate's fucking baby bump diary. I'm just trying to punch up my numbers with the distaff demographic. God knows my numbers could use punching up. They're not just low, they've become negative. Women who have never heard of my blog have vowed never to visit it, should they be informed of its existence.

Some things are timeless.

So no baby bumps today. What I'm doing today is recycling some old bits from 2006, on the assumption that all my readers from back in the early days have grown old and died, or have finally been apprehended by the authorities and are growing old in a maximum security venue without Internet access, or have their faces planted in a bowl of mushy peas while Ellen blares from the day room tv.

True story.

In 2006, I was still working in an office, in a room without windows. I was still a few years away from meeting the people who punted me out of my doldrums. My blog and its drawings were my only escape. I was like a Mennonite woman who, in the midst of the plainest of lives, exuded flamboyant quilts. And that’s the only way I’m like a Mennonite woman, I hasten to add. My output has lost some of that flamboyance these days, but it’s a small price to pay. I think.