It turns out I’m not perfect. Neither are you. And that’s okay.

Sometime between 10:30 and 11 PM Monday night, I made the entire world stop around me—kind of like Hiro could do on that show Heroes?—so I could fix a problem with the poem I posted in honor of the Royal Mouth-To-Feed’s much-tweeted about entry into the realm of humans.  Seriously, someone was actually talking to me and cut them off mid-sentence when I realized what I’d one.  I then proceeded to fix the post, immediately and without passing ‘Go!’.

Thank the Maker for smartphones and the WordPress app.

Of course, I have little doubt that Emily Post would have sniffed at my rudeness.  And Mom, clearly, would have given me quite a talking to followed by a good grounding.  She still might after she reads this.

But see, it wasn’t just a normal mistake. Not like a typo or a place where left out a word because my brain was moving faster than my fingers could produce words so they just said, “screw it” and starting skipped a few here and there to keep up.  No, this was a lexicographical (is that the right word? or lexiconical, maybe? I don’t, that sounds like some kind of party hat-shaped torture device for Superman)  horror. It was an unspeakable embarrassment of Burt Wonderstone levels. Which is to say, it was one of those mistakes you make and then want to bury your head deep in the cold, slimy, mayo-filled underbelly of the internets for a week until the whole thing goes away.

What had I done that was so awful? I….I….

I wrote a limerick, but in the title of the post, suggested it was a haiku.


*waits to be stoned*

*peeks out, surprised to be free of rock-shaped indentations*

In my defense, I had intended to write an actual haiku on Monday, but then realized that a limerick was a much more suitable format to commemorate the birth of the wee princeling. So I scribbled down the limerick, puke references and all, and posted the thing without a second thought. Hey, it’s not like I don’t have a lot on my mind. I am trying to write a book, you know.  Oh, and, um, I guess there’re are those kids always around the house and that woman that frowns at me when I forget to take the trash out.  I think she goes by ‘Puddinette’?


So, yeah. The point here is that, indeed, I promise I know the difference between limerick and haiku.  I also know the difference between your and you’re, their, there, and they’re, and its and it’s.

Admittedly, yes, I type the wrong one on occasion. Not because I don’t know which one is right, but because my brain is so busy trying to get the big picture message out that it forgets to tell me little things like, “Hey, jackass, you wrote ‘they’re living room portrait smacked of dogs playing poker’ instead of ‘their’. Fix it before I put a Katy Perry song in the forefront of your consciousness for the rest of the afternoon!”

But see, here’s the thing. Puddintopia isn’t (and as long as I have any say in the matter, won’t be) the uppity kind of place where people are crucified for making little mistakes.  I mean, it’s a blog for God’s sake, not a collection of Pulitzer-nominated essays. I mean, I reference Oompa Loompas at the drop of a hat.

This is not serious journalism.

I’m casual here in tone and delivery because I want you, the reader, to feel like it’s casual. Further, if you want like leaving a comment, rest assured that you can spend your energy focused on the point of said comment rather than fretting over whether someone’s going to lynch you for dangling a modifier in front of God and everyone.

None of that is to say that I’m not a firm believer in proper grammar or proofreading (or that I’m okay with dangling, um, things in front of God and everyone, but that’s another post) But, you know, sometimes when you’re hanging out with pals, it’s cool to make a mistake. Writing, or any expression, giving form to your thoughts for whatever reason, is often a hasty, messy, glorious business. 

Everyone should be allowed to try it without fear of persecution. And I hope my readers will give me, and each other, the benefit of the doubt.

After all, nobody’s perfect.

Prefect requires editors.


PS: All that said, next time someone notices I’ve left my haiku hanging out where a limerick ought to be, tweet me, point it out on Facebook or Google+, email, or shout at me so I can fix it.  Please?  Thanks!

4 thoughts on “It turns out I’m not perfect. Neither are you. And that’s okay.

  1. Honestly, I’m as bad as you! I read the haiku line and then read the post and my reaction was OK, he’s forgotten how to count syllablesI. We BOTH should be grounded!!!! 🙂


  2. I almost didn’t comment here, because, in an effort to be perfect–or at least perfectly polite–I noticed your gaffe but chose not to mention it. Unfortunately, by mentioning that I noticed but didn’t mention it earlier, I’m afraid that I’m blowing to hell my chance of perfect politeness. Except that, by pointing out that I’m a screw up at perfect politeness, I’m making you feel better about having made a mistake, I’m redeeming myself and being perfectly polite again.


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