OH BOY THE LATEST IS A DOOZIE BUT JENN WILL HAVE TO TELL YOU HERSELF!

I am on the phone with my mother, The Mater. She is getting impatient.

“I keep waiting for you to post more about your ghost research,” she says pointedly. She has been leaving little nudgy comments here at the blog like “DON’T WORRY, THERE’S MORE TO JENN’S GHOST TALES BUT IT IS NOT MY STORY TO TELL!” and “WAIT TILL JENN TELLS YOU THE LATEST ABOUT HER GHOSTS BUT I DON’T WANT TO GIVE ANYTHING AWAY!” and “OH BOY THE LATEST IS A DOOZIE BUT JENN WILL HAVE TO TELL YOU HERSELF!”

“You should really stop telling everybody at my blog that I’m going to post more about the ghosts,” I say.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t know if they want to hear about it.”

“Of course they want to hear about it. Everyone is leaving comments asking to hear more about the ghosts!”

“YOU are leaving comments asking to hear more about the ghosts. I think there were, like, two other people besides you who asked about the ghosts.”

She hmmphs. “There were more than TWO people, but okaaaay.”

I sigh. “Traffic took a nosedive after I brought up the ghosts.”

Stunned silence. “Really?”

“Yes. It still hasn’t recovered. I just don’t think this is what people come here for.”

She is skeptical on the other end of the line. “Well, I still think it’s a great story. But okay.”

“I just don’t even know how to write about it. I feel sort of protective. Of our ghosts.”

“Protective.”

“I just mean…I don’t know if I should go on about them if people aren’t into it. I think they come here to feel better about their own parenting. I think they come here to feel wealthy and appreciate their own kitchens more.”

“Well. Do what you need to do. I’ll stop asking about it.” She is feeling a bit miffy.

I backpedal. “I’m just not sure…they’ll think I’ve completely lost it. Maybe I need a separate blog. An anonymous one.”

“I still say they want more,” she says.

“Today I had lunch with Mrs. Kitchen,” I tell her.

A pause. “You had lunch with her.”

“I set out a plate for her and put some garlic bread on it. And poured her a glass of water. And then I sat across the table from her and we had lunch. Well, maybe we had lunch. I’m not really sure. But my scalp started to do the tingling thing, so I think she was there.”

Horrified silence. “Oh, you can’t write that.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

“They’ll think you’ve lost it.”

“That’s what I’m saying.”

Pause. “I’m worried about you. You fed her lunch.”

“That’s. What. I’m. Saying.”

81 comments May 27th, 2006