Miranda Rights

As careful as I am, somehow I still manage to annoy with my writing. There's a little secret part of me that revels in knowing that you might recognize yourself or pull up a memory.

This article was in one of my writer's magazines. To paraphrase: If we shared an experience, I'm allowed to write about it. If you told me about it, I'm allowed to write about it. If I overheard you talking about it, it's free game. Of course, this does not mean I can use your name.

But I am starting to make people nervous with my pen and cocktail napkin.

You Have No Right

I'm pretty laid back about most things. Every once in a while, something will cause my hackles to rise. Here's my latest list:

You Have No Right:

To touch me in a way that might be uncomfortable for me, unless you are a VERY good friend or I've taken vows with you. (I've been thrown around and dragged under tables.)

To make fun of my husband or family, unless you love them almost as much as I do. (Then it's okay.)

To take advantage of my hospitality while making comments about my housekeeping.

To think your politics supersede mine. (But, I love the conversation.)

I hereby give permission to everyone in my world to:

Correct my grammar and punctuation.

Tell me my dog is obnoxious.

Kiss me hello and goodbye. Hug me repeatedly.

Kindly tell me when I'm REALLY screwing something up.

Tell me kindred spirit stories when I'm flipping out.

Plan a trip and invite me.

One caveat. If I love you, all the rules go flying out the window. You can do whatever you want. And, you have every right to do so.