Recently, an editor asked me to supply a short biography to accompany an article I had written. "Something interesting that would give the readers a little bit of info about you," she wrote. "You know, 'she lives with four cats, six grandchildren, and vacations in Italy and is a certified skydiver. Or something like that.' "
     Me, interesting? Hardly. No hobbies. Hate to travel. I watch a lot of television and read People magazine. Would anyone think it fascinating I live with my husband, a hard-working guy, and a dog that spends every waking hour fast asleep?
     Let's face it: certified boring person pretty much sums me up. My life revolves around who's on Oprah and what time Sunday football ends. If the game runs late, Cold Case doesn't start on time, and I miss the beginning of Brothers and Sisters, a new show on another channel.
     I wasn't always so humdrum and lazy. I was a runner, for goodness' sake! My four marathons and many more half-marathons wouldn't have impressed anyone, though. In fact, some people thought I was nuts. My thoughts exactly, as I crossed every finish line long after the other runners.
     I asked my husband what information about him would make people take notice. He perked up as he talked about golf and his love of sports. You see what I mean? Sports make me yawn. I couldn't hit a golf ball if it was glued to the club.
     My husband went on to say he likes to read. In the past, it would have been at the top of my list. I still pore over books, but now it's job-related. The days of sitting back and losing myself in a story are long gone. Instead, I scrutinize every word, every sentence, looking for similes and metaphors. I pay attention to the writer's voice and keep my eyes open to get a sense of place. I take notes like a college freshman. Other peoples' writing has become my text book.
     If I were to ask her, my friend, Jean, would say she loves to entertain. Our neighborhood's hostess with the mostest, she has company for days on end. That requires dusting and vacuuming, though, which no longer intrigue me. I used to look forward to coming home from work and cleaning every nook and cranny. I'd slip a Rod Stewart cassette into the stereo, light a cigarette, and pour a little glass of Chardonnay. By the time my husband arrived, dinner was in the oven, the house was glowing, and so was I.
     I asked some other friends what they do for fun. Camping is a favorite. Tried it once. It was a disaster, but not so catastrophic strangers would be fascinated. I could try my hand at fiction and say I'd fallen over a cliff and clawed my way back to the campground, fighting off snakes and buzzards, but then I'd be forced to add "liar" to my bio.
     My friends and their pastimes could be the subject of another column. While no one mentioned sky diving, they engage in activities as diverse as gardening, needle work, and playing a Celtic harp. Some even travel. How about that for my biography?
     Dull woman surrounds herself with some very interesting people.