I’m sitting on the sofa watching TV, switching back and forth between Star Trek: The Next Generation and some Denzel Washington movie about a bank robbery. Cowgrit comes into the den and asks me to come on to bed. I’ve been up late a lot lately, and she thinks I need to catch up on my sleep.

She has a point. I look at the clock on the DVD player: it’s 9:14. She asks if I’ve written my post for tomorrow. No, I haven’t.

I turn off the TV and get up from the couch. I head into my office to do my duty.

I sit down at the computer and surf to a few web sites. I can’t think of anything to write about, and I’m just distracting myself. I blow away 15 minutes.

I close the web sites and sit, staring at my blank post page for a couple minutes. I still can’t think of anything to write. I want to go back to the TV. Instead, I get up and go into our bedroom.

Unfortunately, Cowgrit has already turned off the lights. But when I turn around to leave the room, she whispers from the darkness, “What is it?”

“Give me something to write about,” I say.

“Huh?” she says.

“I can’t think of anything to write about. What’s happened funny lately?”

“Um,” she says.

I plop down on the bed, in the dark. “Come on,” I urge, “give me something to write about.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Anything funny. Did the boys do something funny today?”

“Um,” she says.

“Oh,” I say, “I’ve got it.” I get up off the bed, in the dark.

“What?” she asks.

“This,” I say.

“What ‘this’?”

“This situation.” I walk out of the bedroom and back into my office to write all of this. Then I get up and go back to the bedroom.

I ask Cowgrit if I can include the part of our conversation — the risqué funny part — that I haven’t included here. She denies the request. Understandable, actually. Probably best for all concerned, really.

I go back to the computer and note that I’m not allowed to include the funny part of this whole post.

I sign my name

Bullgrit

and click “Publish.”

Damn, this sucks without the funny part.

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