As a “mommy blogger,” I spend my writing time chronicling the events surrounding my empty nest. I write about housework, give parenting tips, and sometimes venture an opinion about the world at large. I read quite a few books, and sometimes watch things on HBO that are a bit racy.

I am starting to have a small presence on Twitter, and I really enjoy all the jolly folks I have met there. The fact that the cyber world is a bit like the “wild west” has never even occurred to me. Until the day I got the email from a fan whom I will just call “Mr. Foots.”

I tweet many things, including character names for novels. So far, none of my names have become famous, but I keep on assigning names to fictional secretaries (Minerva Pickles), stamp collectors (Cyrus Manacle), pig farmers (Sam Hockstein), and damsels in distress (Cecelia Flopworth). But Lauren Teeters, the girl with bunions and stilettos, brought me a genuine fan.

Mr. Foots emailed me with a request to “flesh out” Ms. Teeters in a short story for his “private collection.” He offered to pay me. Ever on the lookout for paying gigs, I referred him to my agent. She is a real go getter, this woman! Her goal is to make me as famous as Erma Bombeck. The fact that my agent is also my daughter is a mere coincidence; I am sure she would want to represent me anyway. But I digress.

Mr. Foots began a correspondence with my agent, which I observed via the “cc’s” on the emails. I began to get suspicious when the “private collection” was mentioned, but kept silent. Mr. Foots then sent some samples of what he desired to my agent. My wonderful agent is very busy, and simply forwarded the samples on to me without a look.

I opened the sample document and began reading. “Sylvia’s throbbing bunions cried out for attention. She slipped off her heels, while running a bath. Her roommate Sarah approached with a smile.” ALARM BELLS RANG. I frantically emailed my lovely daughter, who had in the meantime sent Mr. Foots a message requesting $500 as a starting figure.

ME:  Stop! Stop! Mr. Foots is a PERVERT!

DAUGHTER/AGENT:  Huh?

ME:  Did you even LOOK at the sample he sent?

DAUGHTER/AGENT:  No, why? What do you think if we ask for $500 for one story, and then additional $700 per on follow-up work?

ME: For God’s sake, open the attachment Mr. Foots sent you, and read it to me!

DAUGHTER/AGENT:  (after a fifteen second pause) Her aching foot traced a path down Sarah’s….OH CRAP!

ME:  Yes, and it gets much more savory. Look at the part about the Brazilian and the piercings…

DAUGHTER/AGENT:  OH MY GOD!  Is this PORN?

ME:  Well, it isn’t “Little Women,” now, is it?

DAUGHTER/AGENT:  Should I ask him for more money? Say, a thousand dollars?

ME: I AM YOUR MOTHER!

DAUGHTER/AGENT:  Oh, yeah. I guess you want me to turn him down, huh?

So my pornography career ended before it got rolling. However, if times get any tougher, I might reconsider. What might Erma Bombeck have done?

Her feet were killing her. As a matter of fact, she ached from head to foot.  All that carpooling takes it out of a gal. As she carried her groceries into the house, a thought occurred to her: “I wonder what it would feel like to sit on the vacuum cleaner?”