CHALLENGE | IMPOSTER SYNDROME | HUMOR | #34 of 💯
Monsieur Imposteur Returns
I ditched him in France to learn manners, live the good life with a French girl and leave me alone; the bastard came back
Yesterday I took a walk to (re)consider my life choices and get ideas from the Muses about what to write. The Muses are everywhere if you have the eyes to look for them, but my eyes have turned blurry lately. Depression is a harsh mistress…
I sat at a coffee shop, ordered a Freddo Cappuccino and started torturing my laptop’s keys with my rants and poetry of dubious quality. That was when I saw the bastard. He was sitting at the next table, smiling as if he was Sylvester who just ate Tweety.
I thought I had got rid of him, luring him to Paris last summer and ditching him with a French girl. The last time I saw him he was kissing her on a Seine bridge like a horny teenager.
I took the chance and ran the frack off. In less than an hour I’d left Paris and soon I was home writing, imposter syndrome free.
That was more than a year ago. Back then he looked like me. Now he looked like he escaped from an early 20th century poor man’s Monet painting. Complete with an old-style hat and all.
