By the time you read this there may or may not be ads cluttering up my sidebar. I didn't want to do it folks, but as BABYDANCE MATERNITY NEVER PAID ME FOR THE MONTHS OF FREE ADVERTISING I have done, it forced my hand. I'm hoping my blog doesn't take years to load, and if it does, please let me know.
I have mentioned before why I've been considering this whole ad revenue thing. I fancy myself an aesthete, and so often ads make blogs look tacky as shit. This doesn't please me, but I don't know if there is a way around it. I don't view this as being "paid" for my writing, because seriously, if people got paid for writing the kind of dull tripe I vomit upon Blogger with varying regularity, this would be a baffling catastrophe almost on par with the idea of Mike Huckabee ending up in the White House.
So I want to earn some cash to help you, my lovely fellow bloggers. When you're feeling down, I want to buy you presents. If you need help paying for treatment, I want to throw some money your way. If you're having a baby/babies after a long struggle, I want to buy you a gift. I can do nice things here and there for people sans ad revenue, but I'm somewhat limited given that I have a mortgage to pay, a toddler to rear, and a rather expensive love of gadgets and all forms of media. With that said, please bear it in mind when you see my ads and help a sister or ten out.
As we're talking of such things, it segues nicely to an incident from the other day. England closes at 5.30-6pm every day. No stores are open, and everyone goes home to eat dinner and watch soaps. We thought our local Starbucks was open late on a Thursday, as we regularly the kid there on Thursdays after work. She shares our muffins, and if she's lucky, gets a fingerful of The Dude's whipped cream from his hot chocolate. We walked by it, and got the impression that they were closing. P and I stayed outside whilst The Dude went in to ask what time they closed. The answer was 2 minutes from then, so we went on our merry way. Well, The Dude and I did anyway. P lost her shit, screaming and pointing to Starbucks as we made a hasty retreat. My child is already suckling on the teat of corporate whoredom. It can only go downhill from here.