I am a time-waster extraordinaire, so today I blew the day having lunch with writer buds Emilie and Cynthia. I, of course, got lost on the way to the restaurant. I can get lost going anywhere. I’m a PRO. I called Cynthia and told her to order me a drink, whatever she was having. (By then, I was so lost, I knew I needed one.) She said, I’m having iced tea. ARGH. I said, what’s Emilie having? Cynthia said, a Fruity F*cker. Okay, that gave me pause. For a second. ORDER ME ONE. Ha, then we talked Cynthia into having one, too, after I finally got there. The drinks were a disgustingly putrid shade of green with about 10,000 different kinds of liquor. I was really hoping Emilie or Cynthia would fall drunkenly down the steps leaving the restaurant so I could RUSH HOME TO CHRONICLE IT. Disappointingly, nothing that exciting happened, but we did get in a lot of gossip over our Fruity F*ckers. That’s code language for Writer Work.
Here we are, with our Fruity F*ckers. That’s me on the left, Silhouette Desire author Emilie in the middle, and Harlequin Intrigue author Cynthia on the right. Some old guy at the next table offered to take the picture. Cynthia said–NO, she’s going to put it on her BLOG! They know me so well.