My Irish parents have an ongoing disagreement about the role of blarney in the art of everyday conversation. My father, being unusually short-sighted in this regard, views it as lying. Thankfully, for this storyteller, my mother recognizes it for what it is: a way to make a good story better.
I explained to my husband early in our relationship that when I am holding forth in a group about the enormous, vicious dog that almost bit me, it is completely unnecessary for him to point out that the dog was, in fact, across the street. Behind a fence. On a chain. No one needs every detail! Especially those pesky details that detract from the humor and richness of the tale. The spirit of the story depends upon us, our measly little mouths, our piddly words and phrases, to free it. The spirit of the story is trapped deep inside of us, and if we allow such silly things as the strict recount of accurate details to stand in the way of that spirit....well, we are no better than animals. Or engineers. And I, for one, won't have it. The terrorists of literal detail will not win. Not here. Not on my blog. And I'll brook no argument from the peanut gallery either.
So just to cover my ass from any potential liability, just to satisfy any lurking literalists, and lay rest to any curious rumors that might arise from the small (gaping) cracks (chasms) that separate my stories from the droning recall of those who rise and sleep under the blanket of the very freedom of the story spirit that I provide and then question the manner in which I provide it!?!? Well, then. Allow me to introduce to you...
.....The Rules of the Blog
1. My blog, my rules.
2. Because I said so.
3. It's for your own good.
4. Stop crying or I'll give you something to cry about.
5. Life isn't fair.