And I'll cry - or smear cake across my face - if I want to.
There I am, at the ripe age of two, exercising my personal rights.
Here I am, at the ripe age of - well, let's say I'm not GAP's target audience anymore - feeling guilty that I took a three-day weekend off writing.
It wasn't intentional. There were a million reasons, which I'm prepared to number if someone is looking at me with their hands on their hips.
Anyhoo, I'm quite proud of all my Row80 fellow writers, they of the finely honed discipline. Me and my 362 words on Sunday evening are humbled in your presence.
I promise writerly greatness when next we check in on Wednesday.
You'll rub your eyes in amazement.
You'll clasp your chest and stagger backwards.
You'll buy me cake!