Story Number One:
I woke up this morning to the smell of fresh coffee. Before I even had a chance to roll out of bed, my husband, Kelly, greeted me with a tray complete with my coffee just the way I like it, two slices of toast, some perfectly crisp bacon and a bowl of cheerios. He knows I don't like eggs and I have to eat breakfast before I can take my new medicine. While I sat in bed like the Queen of England, he cleaned up his mess in the kitchen, put on a load of laundry and mopped the kitchen floor. He told me how much he loved me and wanted me to get better so he could stop doing all the work.
OR Story Number Two:
A long lost friend called me this morning. I hadn't heard from her in ages. She said she found me through my website and couldn't believe I'd become an author. She had just finished reading one of my historical romances and was quite excited. She works for a TV production company in Hollywood and wanted my permission to approach her boss about making my story into a movie. She wanted to know if I had any knowledge of screenwriting, but alas, I don't. She said not to worry that there is still a chance she can get a synopsis to Michael Landon, Jr. for a possible production for Hallmark Movies. Am I stoked or what?
OR Story Number Three:
This morning, my husband Kelly, uncovered the BBQ to make bacon for me. He found a new type we both enjoy cooked that way, and I was very touched. I think he was trying to make amends for having suffered a bout of road rage, speeding out of Kroegers because he got mad at someone who wouldn't move, then hit a curb and damaged our front wheel. Probably screwed up the alignment, too. While I was showing him something on the computer, we started to smell something that didn't smell like bacon. He ran out of the room. I heard him cursing and went to check. The BBQ had caught fire and melted the privacy panel outside our back door. So much for the bacon...and privacy. After a while, he left for work, and later came home stinking of diesel. I mentioned it and he admitted to having spilled fuel all over himself, but he insisted on sharing a story about how he witnessed an accident, and despite trying to leave, he was forced to stay and give a statement about what he saw. He wasn't very happy as this was two times in a week that he had to give a statement to the police. I sympathized, but refused to have my house smell like a service station, so after my bitching, he went to the laundry room and shed his clothes. After putting them in the washing machine, he went and took a shower. We were enjoying a TV show, when he looked over at me with a frown. "You know," he said. "I think I washed my cellphone."
It's April Fool, so you guess which one of the three stories is the truth. To celebrate, I'll pick a name from the comments and that person will win the very first copy of White Heart, Lakota Spirit, just released.