They titter not, neither do they chuckle. In my case, their celestial guffaws echo throughout Valhalla - In the courts of the Queens, in the halls of the Kings.
Once again, I've been nominated for Best Writer, or something, in the Big Clit. However, there's a difference this time around. My august Research Department (teenage son) has pointed out that almost no one voted for me.
The solution?
My current strategy is to go through gender-reassignment surgery, move to Fortitude, Norway, and perish in battle. Then I'll join the other Vikings in Valhalla, or perhaps Fólkvangr, who died, gallantly, for the cause.
Head held high,
Paige