Gingerbread Woman

Bring on the dancing girls, get out your trumpets

But, not just yet. First, I just want to say 'respect sisters' to each and every lioness who ever did that, and to prostrate myself, Julie humbled at the temple of the warrioresses who return to the state of Childbirth, forearmed with knowledge of that place.

You may imagine dear blog watchers that I've been too distracted lately to think much about writing. You'd be wrong. I'm up to my eyes in muse, and, whilst all I want to do at times is wrap him in my arms and trace the outline of his face in wonder with my fingertips, the material that the last week has provided has been too rich not to write before I formally abandon the preggers tag and move to a new phase cyber home.

It may be slow progress though as the material is rawer than a wound running from hip to hip and the face tracing is only one in a basket of new distractions.

(Bows, not too low, and exits with a slightly weird walk, leaving the stage free to glisten with dancing girls as trumpeters strike up 'cry me a river / mad about the boy / voodoo child / my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard')

posted by The Gypsy @ 6:11 am