I was all set to write a tremendously informative post about the perils of home bikini waxing tonight.
But I remembered, at the last moment, that in my excitement about taking my first tentative steps into blogdom, I informed a rather large number of people in my life about my blog–including my brother, my father, my preacher, and a few other folks that might not appreciate being subjected, without warning, to vivid descriptions of my personal hair removal misadventures.
This brings me to another problem. Some of the aforementioned large number of people are quite interesting and colorful, the perfect subjects for hyperbole-filled posts poking gentle fun at their foibles. It occurs to me now, however, that those posts are likely to be a little stilted in the execution, due to my dawning awareness of the very slight chance that these people might not want their foibles poked.
So, you see, I’ve sort of blogged myself into a corner.
What to do, what to do….
I could, of course, just adopt the slash-and-burn philosophy, writing about what and who I will, and the devil take the hindermost (do people still say that?) It does have a certain delicious rebelliousness to it that was mostly missing from my teenage years.
Or, for the sake of my loved ones–as well as the ones that I just don’t want mad at me–I could perhaps post a little warning at the top of entries that may contain subject matter unsuitable for consumption by youth ministers, former Brownie leaders, and anyone who once changed my diapers.
As for those with the sensitive foibles, I’ll simply change their names. That way, if anyone confronts me, I can just ask, “Why would you think that was about you?”