Yesterday I went to a downtown coffee shop to write. Of course, by “write”, I mean “nurse a $5.65 non-fat latte for 3 hours while eavesdropping on the people nearby who were having a whisper fight about his seeming inability to stay away from someone named ‘that fat, fucking ex-girlfriend of yours’”. It was just like a soap opera, only with ugly people and great dialogue.

They soon left to either have make-up sex or file mutual restraining orders, leaving me with nothing else to do but write. And by “write”, I mean “log on to the free Wi-Fi and gleefully click on the”Hot Hollywood Gossip” link”. Now first, let me say that my laptop screen is very large. And that I don’t consider Rumer Willis, daughter of Demi and Bruce, exactly “Hollywood” or “hot”. So when my screen was suddenly filled with a rather life-like “Par-Tay Pic!” of her holding a giant, inflated condom up to her mouth, I wasn’t very impressed. The table full of elderly women next to me holding their Bible study, even less so.

Today I’m writing in my closet.

Wendi Aarons