So, in case you don’t know, (LOL-ing at myself because I’ve let the entire world know by now), Permanent Marker: A Memoir by yours truly, is sort of out now, even though its release date is March 13 (two more weeks—WAHOO!). Because I had to put in my own order, which went directly to the publisher/distributor, I have already sold one box of 50 books to mostly students and colleagues who are also mostly reading it right now.
And they’ve read about Jackson’s tattoo promise. (Read blog post entitled, “Jackson’s New Tattoo,” here ).
“Hey, Miss Ross,” the students are saying. (Yes, they know I’m married, but it’s this weird student thing they all do…when you’re a married teacher you’re a ‘Miss’, but when you’re a young, single teacher, you’re a ‘Missus’. Ask any female teacher—it’s the truth.)
“Yes?” I reply.
“Did Jackson get that tattoo yet?” they ask, smiles cracking their smooth, teenage faces.
“Um, no, not yet,” I say, preparing for the reaction. Remember: Everything is so black and white to teenagers.
“WHAAAAAAAT?” they ask, incredulous. “Why not? The book is out.”
And I have to shrug and say I know and then come home and badger my gorgeous, already inked-up hubby.
Guess what his answer is now, almost six years after that pinky promise on his deck when we were dating?
“I dunno, Aimee. I’m starting to change my mind about the buttcheek—that will HURT,” he claims. “Besides, maybe I should hold out for the book being turned into a movie.”
“WHAT?!” I yell. “JACKSON! That is so not fair!”
He grins, and I melt, and then he says, “You know it’s going to be a movie, right?”
But I just don’t know how that’s going to happen. Unless word of mouth spreads and a gajillion people buy and read the book, making it an overnight bestseller. Or unless Oprah, or Reese Witherspoon, or Ellen, or Ricky Martin, maybe, read my book, which is a longshot. My teaching friend Ben says, “Do it—send the book to them!” but I just don’t know.
I guess it couldn’t hurt, right?
Until then, I’ll keep chipping away at my husband, hoping he’ll finally relent to my permanent marker on his rear end (see what I did there?), and I’m sure I’ll keep hearing him tell me that Bruce Willis would make a great Jackson Ross (blech—not even close) in the book’s movie version. Wish me luck.