This blogging thing is supposed to be a breeze.
Well, maybe it would be, if I didn't have to worry about my boss, Evelyn, strolling by and seeing what I'm doing.
Or my Imaginary Boyfriend, who should be arriving here at the Peabridge Library any minute. He'll sit down at his table in the reference room. He'll take his papers out of his briefcase. He'll close the briefcase and set it on the floor. He'll remember that he forgot to take out a pen. He'll find a pen in the very bottom of his briefcase. He'll tap the cap against his teeth as he reads through his notes from last week.
And then, maybe, if I'm lucky, if this is a good day, he'll come and ask me a reference question.
And if it's a fantastic day, I'll have checked my teeth in the mirror, to make sure that I don't have any raspberry seeds left over from this morning's Berry Crunch at Cake Walk. I'll have a quick smile and a ready answer. I'll be the perfect librarian.
But, more likely, I'll forget how to pronounce my own name. I'll forget where we keep the dictionaries, much less the obscure colonial references that my Imaginary Boyfriend is likely to need. I'll forget how to use the online catalog, how to shelve a book, how to do anything that would make me look remotely competent, here in the Peabridge.
And if it's an absolutely terrible, horrible, disastrous, end-of-Imaginary-Boyfriend-imagining day, my grandmother will phone while I'm talking to Jason. I'll see her number on the Caller ID, and I'll forget how to flirt. I'll miss have of what Jason says, because I'll be worried about getting Gran's message. When I finally get around to picking up the phone, Gran will say that she was just calling to make me promise never to go skydiving, because there was an article about skydiving in this morning's Post. Or to make me promise never to kayak on open water, alone, at night. Or to make me promise any number of other things that I'd never even thought of doing before she called.
And I'll promise. Because she loves me. And I love her. No one else would have put up with me when I was a miserable, melancholy, spoiled-brat teenager.
But I really hope that today will be one of the perfect ones.
Time to post this first blog entry. Before the Imaginary Boyfriend arrives!