Firstly, let me do this linky-link thing, before my adorably-peppy project manager has a fit and her pompoms explode. *grin* With everything going on in my house lately, I totally forgot to let you know that “Death Rejoices” is now available for pre-order at Amazon HERE! WOOHOO! Official launch date: April 30th, 2013. That day I will also be doing my First Soul-Cleansing Manuscript Bonfire, weather permitting. Prepare for pictures of me being scolded & berated by sexy firemen, with this little Writerghoulie looking impish yet smug. (My flaming milkshake brings all the first responders to the yard? Heh.)

Also, I’ve got a story to tell you. I call it The Gnome, and it’s entirely true. That’s what makes it so tragic.

So, not too long ago, I had my sister over for a visit. She’s younger than me, way cuter than me, and she might be clinically insane. During one of her many smoke breaks (which I make her take outside, because, eww, smoking is gross) she decided to “get me back” by belting my garden gnome into the passenger seat of my car. She then came back inside and had perfectly straight-faced conversations about  various girly subjects: perfume, ceramic hair-straighteners, serial murder, penis girth, the giant mole on her manicurist’s nose, and why so-and-so (that bitch, that absolute whore) didn’t return her texts.

I did not notice the gnome that evening.

I did not notice the gnome when I got into the car at 4 A.M. because it was dark and it was 4 fucking A.M. I drove to work, oblivious to my little frozen-grinned friend.

I did not notice the gnome when I went through the Tim Hortons drive-thru, got my X-LRG steeped w/2 milk, parked in front of work, and began to edit some writing.

A cop cruised by my car, maybe ten minutes later. This is not abnormal at that time of the morning. They just want to make sure I’m not casing the joint, I suppose. They usually don’t stop to chat. This one did.

He strolled over. I rolled down the window, smiled at him. I like cops. I have no problem with an officer of the law doin’ his job. He said good morning, asked me what I was up to. Told him I was waiting for my 5 A.M. work shift, and my manager would be here in about ten minutes, and he was welcome to wait and see. He said “nah,” and went to leave…and stopped. And stared past me, into the seat beside me.

I froze. What the fuck was on my seat that could make his smile dissolve like that? Did I have an axe, or a knife, or a bottle of booze, or what? None of those things made sense, but he was abruptly concerned, so there had to be something.

I craned over slowly. And that’s when I saw him: little green hat with the paint chipped, empty grin, holding a daisy. BELTED IN.  Like I’m responsible for the welfare of his little gnome head in the event of an accident.

I stammered, “I have no idea how that could have gotten there!”

That statement did very little to make the officer more comfortable.

I continued, “Well, I mean, it’s not like he got there on his own. Even if he could walk, which he absolutely can’t, his legs are too little! I’m not sure he even HAS legs. Does he have legs? His shirt’s kinda long, I can’t tell–no, I’m not going to check. My point is: somebody put him there. Not me. I don’t need him. It’s not like I crave his company. He’s got no personality. Or maybe he does, maybe I’m being unfair. I’ve never even talked to him. Maybe he has a fantastic sense of humour….” Blink. “I’m not crazy, Sir.”

He said nothing. Not a word. He went right back to his car and drove away. Despite being 4:40 in the morning, I texted my sister immediately, thumbing the letters urgently.

Me: A cop. Caught me with the gnome. Belted in. I hate you so much.

I didn’t get her hahahahahahaha until much later in the morning.