No More Pooper Scooping – I am an Artiste!

The Brontes confront the Withering Heights of Beeby's litter box.

Did Shakespeare scrub toilets?  Was Byron doing tax returns?  Were any of the Bronte sisters expected to wield a pooper-scooper?  I think not.

We were not meant for the mundane, the work-a-day life.  We are Writers!

This magical journey of self-discovery that we call blogging has taught me so much about myself.  I cannot be tied down by the concerns of lesser mortals.  No offense to all of you.   I must be free to capture the essence of the creative ooze. 

I’ve adopted a new look that expresses my free-spirit persona.  Now, all I wear are floaty skirts, lots of shawls and scarves, bangles, beads and a wide-brimmed hat.  I carry a long, ivory cigarette holder.  Tres elegante methinks – kind of a Truman Capote in drag vibe.

It has usually fallen to me to clean our cat, Beeby’s, litter box.  No more.  Bending over a loaded litter box with all that trailing fringe is just asking for trouble. 

My husband, Guillaume (much more interesting than “Bill”, don’t you think?), said today he’s out of clean underwear.  I believe he was implying that I, MOI!, should attend to the matter.   Shirley you jest!  

And yes, I know it’s “surely”.  That was an homage (pronounced with a Frenchie-Pierre accent, no “H”) to the late, great Leslie Nielsen.

Kudos to another good writer, Truman Capote, for the loan of his stylish sangfroid.

The creative burden is exhausting.  Sometimes I am forced to recline gracefully on the divan for hours to recoup my strength.  Until Guillaume kicks me out because he wants to stretch out with a cold one to watch Jackass reruns, the Visigoth.

Dishes piling up in the sink, bills piling up on the counter – what care I of these?   When the Muse is upon me, I am lost to the world.

When not actually writing, I feel it is my duty to visit the nouveau Freshly Pressed, to encourage these budding talents.  That takes time and energy, but I do not begrudge it.  I am eager to share what I have gleaned, toiling in the fields of literature (note to self: good stuff there. Re-use for future blog post.)

Lately, Guillaume has been going on and on about a “paying job” and “can’t be a real writer without any readers” and such all.  I cannot clutter my mind with these bourgeois considerations.  I am an Artiste.

Now, dear readers, I have need of sustenance.  Tea time!   Perhaps some cakes, a few cucumber sandwiches – remember I like them with the crusts cut off, Guillaume. 

Guillaume?  Mon Coeur?

Hey, Bill…where’d everybody go?

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About pegoleg

R-A-M-B-L-I-N-G-S, Ram...Blin!
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34 Responses to No More Pooper Scooping – I am an Artiste!

  1. Scriptor Obscura says:

    Written like a true artiste! :)

    Like

  2. Ah, but you do have readers, faithful zealous devotees no less, who would be crushed to go a day without enriching their lives with your profound observations. Write on and #@$% the laundry and the litter box.

    Like

  3. SandySays1 says:

    Now that’s what I call humor! Image a human with a SOH. However, some writers did or do work. Twain was riverboat hand, Crieghton a doctor, and Gresham a lawyer (though many will say being a lawyer isn’t work, it’s just a person who enjoys torture.)
    Tell old G. not to be too crustry for you.
    Sandy
    http://www.sandysays1.wordpress.com

    Like

  4. You need an intern or one of those personal assistants that all the Hollywood bigwigs have. Shirley, there’s some institution of higher learnin’ near you with a co-op program and students desperate to get up close and personal with Advanced Blogging Greatness. It would be a real resume builder for them.

    Like

  5. Sarah Morrissette says:

    Mollie!!! How on earth did you become such a talented and FUNNY writer?! I am astonished. You have found your calling, grab it, put on your billowing cape and run as fast as you can into the glorious future awaiting you!
    Your little sis’
    Sarah

    Like

  6. I applaud you. I can relate to wearing chunky artisan jewelry, funky layered clothing, and having some kind of artsy hair thing going on. Unfortunately, I put my workout clothes on in the morning and don’t remember about my artiste ensemble until it’s time to get into my pjs. Gotta work on that.

    Like

  7. Unfortunately, we bloggers have to suffer for our art, because the outside world just doesn’t understand us… Neither does the cat. If she did, she would Shirley find a way to clean that litter box herself instead of threatening to leave deposits on the carpet.

    Like

  8. I think the Bronte sisters had servants. Back then, I think one either HAD servants or WAS a servant. Better to be the former.
    There are automated “self-cleaning” litter boxes, you know. A roommate had one… I remember it was very loud, and it stank just as much.

    Be sure to keep your fringes away from open flame.

    Like

    • pegoleg says:

      You are so right. I have been telling Guillaume for years that we needed servants.

      I must admit, there have been a few incidents with the long cigarette holder and the fringe. It’s not as easy at it looks to manage all these acootermonts.

      Like

  9. Good luck capturing the essence of the creative ooze.

    Like

  10. sukanyabora says:

    since u have been coming back everytime-you are a darn good artiste! keep writing please-i am your fan.

    btw, your earlier post (intimate stranger) inspired me to write my own based on what i experienced…so thunk u!

    http://sukanyabora.wordpress.com/2011/04/08/fragile-existence/

    Like

  11. peasantlola says:

    I, Shirley, do the whole skirt/scarves/bangles/beads get up every day. So I’m getting myself a Paolo (Guillaume is all yours), a chaise lounge he won’t share with me, and one of my fellow English department students to take care of things for me as soon as I’m done with the bonbons and the internet.

    Alors merci beaucoup; I’d have continued to get my fringe in the dishwater if it weren’t for you, ma cherie.

    Like

    • pegoleg says:

      Hey, once you get Paulo and an intern, you’ll have an entourage! I want an entourage (said in the same whiney tone as Verrucha Salt demanding an Oompa Loompa)!!

      Like

  12. John Hunsinger says:

    I want to be in your entourage. I always wanted to be a paid sycophant.

    Like

  13. I’m impressed. Oh master artiste, shine your fame about.

    Like

  14. Pingback: Writing The Turd In The Pool | Ramblings

  15. crampmystyle says:

    Wow- this post really spoke to me on so many levels! One: I used to be a chamber maid. Orleans Holiday Motel, Cape Cod MA. I cleaned the toilets, my sister did the beds. I love the smell the lysol in the morning. Second, I got rid of my cat’s litter box and now she only uses wee wee pads made for puppies. I ain’t cleaning no poop box! Third, I often putter around my house muttering to myself, “If I write a blog post and no one reads it, does it make a sound? Am I actually a writer? If you prick me do I not bleed? If you take away my plate of food before I finish it, do I not chase after you to finish the scraps?” The answer to all these questions: YES!! Thank you Peg!!! I am with you 100%! And I am now a loyal follower of your writing!!

    MC

    Like

    • pegoleg says:

      Hello, Cramp – so sorry I missed this comment hiding down here in this old post (one of my faves, by the way.)

      Those are some profound questions you put forth – quite the philosopher, are we?

      I’m intrigued by the puppy pads thing – how did you get the cat to use them? We have a “situation” around our house. Beeby is peeing all over and things are getting desperate.

      Like

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