Robert Browning eat your heart out
So my hubby is now a published poet.
I’m proud. Not just because it’s so very cool that after dabbling in haiku as a hobby for a little while, he’s managed to publish them in a haiku journal on his first submission, people (the man may be published but he has NOOO idea about suffering for his art) but most of all, because – in the words of Shark’s Tale’s Lola – “deep down, I’m really superficial.” And ‘published poet’ just sounds so much better than ‘student teacher’ or ‘support worker’ or ‘brunette’.
Ah, but now you see, I can say with not only pride, but a French accent… “ooh la la, Francoise, have you met my hubb-ee? He is, how you say, le poet…he speaks to me le sonnets as my head touches le pillow on le bed, and gives-a-me le goosebumps with his iambic pentameter…j’adore le poet, Francoise, j’adore!!!”
It’s official. My life is now complete.