Correct that to read more fun.
I have some practice under my belt.
Elections for Grade 5 student body president. We write names on pieces of paper. The teacher counts them in her head (Jeff Probst could learn a thing or two about counting from Mrs. Rung) and then lets us know that I lose. So the boys didn’t like the pink frosting on my campaign cupcakes. Big dealy-o! The defeat is quick and nearly painless. Like a lip wax, just rip it off.
Senior Year of College. I’m up for a College of Fine Arts Award. We finalists embarrass ourselves in front of a panel of professors. They talk behind closed doors. A week later I get a runner-up thingy at an awards ceremony and proceed to take my date out for ice cream. We have no second date. I think he ran off with the winner.
Last night JT and his posse of BoB Award death marchers (a moment of silence to weep for their lost sleep and possibly lost minds) put up the official voting system on the site.
“Sweet,” says I. I will vote for my favorite blog.
I proceed to do so.
Up pops a results/body-count vote tally mechanism of death.
The silent scream.
The not-so-silent scream.
I say a quiet prayer that they will close the voting tomorrow. Watching these votes come in will be like watching my own demise…. in slow-motion…. on the internet…. in front of thousands of people.
Now, I’m not asking you to make me the Seabiscuit of the BoBs, but for the love of string cheese, please don’t leave little Katie out on the school ground getting her butt whipped with cupcake frosting smeared all over her hair, while thousands of 5th graders look on.
Basically, what I’m asking is that you don’t leave me hanging with one vote….cast by someone living in the greater Seattle area…..who shall not be named.
As my husband and Mr. Trump repeatedly remind us, “losing” in a contest of this
nature is not a loss, but a tenth-place finish in a large group of amazing contenders.