By: Julie Johnstone
To be perfectly honest, I had no clue what I was going to blog about today. I took over one of the other Lady Scribes' regular blog days on Monday because I failed to realize I was up to blog today. This is what happens when you don’t have enough sleep or hours in the day to get organized so that you can get to bed early enough to get the sleep you need. It’s a viscous cycle―I swear!
Inspiration struck me when I was on Facebook. I knew all that wasted time browsing post would come in handy someday! One of my fellow critique partners posted something that said, “1st clue that someone is a drama queen: She says, "I don't want you to think I'm a drama queen." Gives it away every time.” I laughed so hard, and it gave me the idea to write a blog about drama queens!
I think having personally known many, and having a tendency to create funny, dramatic side-kicks, makes me a semi-expert. Okay. Not really, but I have to write about something, and I know you guys will cut me a break. So here are five clues you know someone is a drama queen.
1. She shows up for a hike in the woods in a matching outfit that sparkles, and her shoes of choice for the hike are heels.
2. She believes a bad hair day is a legitimate reason to cry.
3. She believes a pimple is a legitimate reason to stay in the house until said pimple goes away.
4. She always has a crisis bigger than yours. You lost your job? She suddenly has lost hers and her car.
5. Finally, you can never have a girl’s night out that doesn't end with her in tears. *Caveat-unless a super hot guy gets her number.
I can’t resist a little excerpt from one of the drama queens created from my own imagination. Meet Sally who is Whitney Rutherford’s sidekick in Conspiring with a Rogue.
A door clicked, footsteps padded across the hardwood floor, and the hiss of the curtain rings being slid across the wood rod had Whitney cursing against her pillow. Sally would be the only one entering this room as Mr. Wentworth had explicitly told Mr. Nabors, the groom of the chamber, no assistance was required due to a morbid shyness.
The bed sank beside Whitney and a warm hand rubbed across her forehead. “Wake up, darling. We have a disaster.”
Sally’s words sent alarm racing through Whitney, and she bolted up, almost throwing Sally to the floor. She grasped Sally by the arm and hauled her back onto the bed. “Don’t tell me Peter decided to refuse your request.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, darling. Peter can refuse me nothing, which is one of the reasons I love him.”
“Your modesty is astounding,” Whitney replied, her heartbeat slowing from its frantic, worried pace.
With a frown, Sally rose from the bed and started pacing the room. Whitney watched her friend wear a path back and forth across the Aubusson carpet until she could take no more. “What is it? If Peter is still agreed upon helping, what’s the disaster?”
Sally faced her, hands planted on her hips. “Which would you prefer first, the major disaster or the minor inconvenience which led to the disaster?”
“Any other choices?” she asked dryly.
Sally shook her head.
Whitney scooted back against the mounds of pillows. If she was going to receive bad news, she might as well be comfortable. “How can we have a disaster this early in the morning? Surely Peter has yet to have time to do your bidding?”
“It’s not early.” Sally strode to the window and threw open the shutters. Bright sunlight shone through the opening. “It’s noon, darling.” Sally eyed her narrowly. “Just how long did it take you to fall asleep?”
Noon? Whitney’s mouth suddenly felt very dry. Noon was plenty of time for several catastrophes to occur. She glanced at the nightstand and grasped the glass of water she had put there last night. The drink helped to moisten her mouth, but her stomach was doing somersaults, and there was nothing she could do to help that. “It was dawn when I finally drifted away. I feel dreadful.”
“You look dreadful, too.”
“And they say in the ton you are all that’s kind,” Whitney grumbled. “If they only knew the real you.”
“Oh, darling, I’m sorry.” Sally sat on the bed and faced her. “Your betrothed arrived very early this morning.”
Shock was a funny thing. Whitney had always thought herself a calm person, but in the last several days, she had found herself with a racing heart, unable to speak, and her mouth hanging open. This was one of those moments where disbelief took away all coherent thought. “Huh?” she managed, quite proud she got that one word out.
“Close your mouth, darling, it’s unsightly.”
Now, tell me your drama queen story!