miss contriviality

I am sitting here in the kitchen, just finished up my paperwork of the day.  Rosebud is eating chocolate chips beside me, Scout is baking something.  Polly is baking something else.  Alice is downstairs working on her present theatrical production with the Pirate and other friends.

The boys are watching Dr. Who on the computer.  I sit here at the kitchen island blogging now that my work is done.  To my grown up daughters I say, What Should I Write About Today?  Scouts says, Don't Be Contrived.

I say, What.  I Am Never Contrived.  What Are You Talking About?  Scout laughs her tinkling maniacal laugh.  Which is weirdness itself.  I try to extract what she means, but it is useless.  She continues to laugh her tinkling maniacal laugh.  Then, veering off on a bizarre tangent she asks if she is cute.

I can't answer.  For any number of reasons, but most of all because I don't want to.  I don't think I'm contrived.  I think readers could say quite a few critical things about my blog, such as She's Opinionated.  She's Opinionated.  And She's Opinionated.  But I don't think contrived.  So, what I do whenever I perceive somebody is insulting me, I look up the word they have used on Dictionary.com.

So I did that just now and it didn't actually make me feel any better.  In fact, it has confirmed my suspicions that Scout did indeed insult me.  Dictionary.com says that contrived means: obviously planned or forced, artificial, strained.  That is not very flattering at all.

And so, my friends.  I weep.  Just kidding.  I do not weep, I instead, spend my time thinking of a clever comeback.  Like, Am Not.