I get feedback on my blog posts – in person, at home. Here, freely paraphrased, is last night’s conversation with my spouse about the socialist critic who said I had a weapons fetish.
Husband: You’re brave. You slapped down a reviewer. (I.e., What the hell were you thinking?)
Me: I slapped down a reviewer who thinks it’s Moscow 1917, and that paradise will come when the proletariat destroys the capitalist running dog Yankees. That’s not brave, it’s fun.
Husband: Okay. But you slapped down a British publication for dissing America.
Me: He dissed American women. I mentioned that it was a British publication so readers would understand that the writer wasn’t himself American.
Husband: All right. (I.e., Oh, so you do know that the British press has been overwhelmingly positive toward you. As have your British colleagues. And friends. And pets.)
Me: Besides, the guy stepped on my toes. Trashing US gun-nuts is my prerogative. Same with American celebrity wannabes. And hillbillies.
Husband: (Glare that says, You Okies pick on hillbillies because there’s nobody else you can pick on.)
Me: (Dang, we do. It’s almost as if we exhibit the same sort of prejudices as that reviewer.) (Smile apologetically. Think happy thoughts about Appalachia. Don’t tell my husband his home state’s motto is “West Virginia is for Cousins.”)
Husband: And why did you talk about the weapons?
Husband: The weapons in the closet. The tongfas, the chucks, the staff. That kobudo cosh stick I got you for your keyring. (Look of incredulity.) Have you forgotten my samurai sword?
Me: Your karate equipment – I didn’t think about it. Oh, my God. I actually do have a collection of Japanese assassin’s gear.
And yeah, it is wicked.
(For the record, my husband worked hellaciously hard for his black belt, and the martial arts gear is solely for sports. Only the samurai sword has ever been used for self defense, and only by me. And when I finished chasing him out of the house, that squirrel knew who was boss. The sword is now safely stored in my mother’s attic, but if the raccoons attack, she knows what to do with it.)
And babe, tell me now if you’ve stashed away anything else I should know about. Such as a dueling banjo.