Welcome to a day in the life of a newly-minted midlife goddess...

Me: Before you introduce me, can I ask you something?

Hadrian: Of course.

Me: If we call our Chief of State POTUS, then can't your subjects call me...are you ready for this?

Hadrian: I can hardly wait.

Me: They can call me...LOTUS!!!

Hadrian: Ah. I see.

Me: Isn't it cute?

Hadrian: It is, but...how exactly did you work that out?

Me: Short for Lady of the Underworld.

Hadrian: So...LOTU.

Me: No. That rhymes a little too closely to 'loathe you', which I'm sure my future haters would love to turn into a hashtag. So my pre-emptive strategy is---

Hadrian: Make sure you don't do something that would have people hate you?

Me: Uh...yeah. I know you're used to having magic in your life, but you gotta learn to be realistic, too. I'm the kind of person people either love or hate, no in between.

Hadrian: I count myself lucky then, having the wisdom and exceptionally good taste to fall in love with you.

Me: God, you're so hot. Do we have time for a quick...oh, no, wait, you almost distracted me there. Back to my nickname. Can we do LOTUS then, like the flower? Please?

Hadrian: I truly wish I could say yes, milady...but that's not how acronyms work. You need to find a way to get the S in there.

Me: But I'm a goddess.

Hadrian: ...

Me: Well?

Hadrian: I'm sorry, love. But I'm not seeing the connection.

Me: Goddesses surely have the power to change the rules of grammar.

Hadrian: Ah. I see.

Me: So...

Hadrian: Where grammar's concerned, even goddesses have to play by the same rules, so I'm afraid the answer is still no.

Me: Oh, fine. How about Lady of the Underworld...States?

Hadrian: The Underworld has no states.

Me: So...is that another no?

**** And now, back to regular programming ****

Hey there. I'm Saoirse, and I used to be a thirty-something ghost who (long story short) turned into a 41-year-old goddess when I started dating the (recently divorced) Lord of the Underworld.

Today was supposed to be my honeymoon - I mean, homecoming...

Until Zeus suddenly lost his marbles...

Hadrian had to put Hell on lockdown...

And a raven-haired beauty (whom I may or may not be jealous of) believes that my blood might help save us from the Olympian god's deadly, missile-like thunderbolts.

So yeah.

Those people who think middle-aged women can only lead ho-hum lives?

Tell them to give me a call, will you? ;)

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