I know I’m supposed to thank the Academy, or the judges, or the powers-that-be who chose me.
The other wonderful people who were nominated. (Sorry, Suckers.)
Everyone who should have made the short-list instead of me. (Maybe next year, Losers.)
My long suffering husband. (I don’t want to be the kind of person who thanks the barista for always adding the perfect amount of froth and forgets to mention the poor soul who legally bound themselves in sickness, health, and though whatever monetary fluctuations life should bring.)
Those adorable rugrats of ours, who may be watching at home.
Our babysitter. (Even though they likely plan on stuffing the kiddos full of Froot Loops, and Pixie Stix, and Moose Trax, so they can bone their boyfriend on our faux leather loveseat while our pint-sized monsters slip into sugar-induced comas.)
The divine.
My parents.
That’s where things get tricky.
I’m pretty sure if my parents had their way, I wouldn’t exist. I don’t mean that they acted like I was some demon spawn who needed to be destroyed. They simply needed a catalyst to start the reaction that resulted my conception. (See, Mom, I do put that expensive science degree to use. Technically, I should give a shoutout to that wicked fast sperm and the ovum, who happened to be in the right place at the right time, but I majored in Chemistry, because Biology majors were required to cut up critters in the name of science. Hard pass.)
Long story short, I’d like to thank the Hanson’s for the epic Christmas party they hosted the year before I hatched. The party where my daddy dressed as Santa and my mom wore that elf costume with the pointy ears and bells.
Anyway, Blessings to Jeff and Jo-Beth Hanson. I wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for your warm hearts and open bar.
<waves the award whatsit and makes the peace sign or the Spock one or the Girl Scout promise thingy. I always mix those up, but who cares? They pretty much mean the same damn thing.>
This one’s for you, you awesome little booze hounds.
When she isn’t trolling art museums for works that move her, Serena Jayne enjoys writing in multiple fiction genres. Born under the sun sign of Leo, she is naturally a cat person. Her short fiction has appeared in the Arcanist, Shotgun Honey, Space and Time Magazine, Unnerving Magazine, and other publications. She tweets @SJ_Writer.