Fridaaaaay!… aka You Can’t Make This Stuff Up

True Confessions ~

This morning I trip down the stairs. I’m trolling for decaffeine. It’s #tgif day, and I need it in the worst way. And it’s later than normal decaffeine time because, when I lurched out of bed this morning I could hear two male voices in the living room downstairs, which means we had company.

Before decaffeine, man!

Unless G-Man was pulling a Paul Winchell or a Edgar Bergen.

Not likely. The man’s got mad skills, but not in that direction.

I’m blinking and sipping and thinking.

Hardcore for Fridays.

I’m blinking and sipping and thinking about today’s blog when G-Man sidles up and says…

Good Morning Kiss!?

So I wrap my hands around his morning scruff and lay a little lovin’ on him.

No moss on me. No siree!

I turn my attention back to the decaffeine and hear…


She’s the one,

the one with the Jack Frost touch.

It’s a bit much.

She loves only cold.

Only cold.

She loves cold…

You can’t make this stuff up.

That’s a lie.

I can.

Hello! Fiction writer.

But I didn’t.


Try to get that earworm out of your head.


In that spirit…

Love you so much, Ms. Shirley Bassey.

This might be my favorite Bond song.

Do you have a favorite Bond song? Let me hear it.

Here be Friday in all its end-of-the-week glory.


You know what to do. Meet you in the bar in 3…2…1…


Note: This image is a licensed, royalty-free image from No poaching, please.