I don’t know why I love to write so much. Maybe it’s because I can polish myself up quite a bit before hitting send or publish. I can use my trusty online thesaurus and find a fancier word for the word trip or great. Because if I find that fancier word I might just impress some of my readers. But I won’t impress all of you. Because just the other day my mother corrected me when I said bruncheon. Cindy, she said, it’s brunch. She is probably sitting in her comfortable, new, red, leather La-Z-Boy recliner still laughing. There’s the time when I stood in front of a crowded auditorium somewhere in Frisco, Texas, back when I was a mere 5 years old in my fuchsia leotard and white tutu. I missed each and every part of the tap routine and decided to cover my eyes hoping that meant that others weren’t noticing the tallest girl up there smack dab in the center. For those who’ve spent any time around me, they know I snort. Hello, my name is Cindy and I snort. I don’t know why I snort. I don’t want to snort. My dad did it and I guess that’s why I do it. It’s gross and embarrassing, but I still snort. But somehow on this blog, you don’t know that I say bruncheon or that I acted a fool on a stage some 33 years ago or that I snort several times a day, if not an hour. Sure I throw out an alla y’all or a holla just to keep people guessing, but I still want my momma to believe that the college education she paid for at least did something. But really, I’m still just Cindy. CindyMo. Cmo. The tall girl from Georgetown, Texas, who was always a foot taller than everyone else. The woman who says things she shouldn’t and acts in ways that can be considered unbecoming. And I’m okay with that. Nice to meet you.