At my age, the odds that I am going to win anything big are looking slim. No matter how hard I try to make people laugh, my name is unlikely to be known in households around the country. But in case something I say in an offhand manner somehow goes viral, and I end up with a popular TV sitcom based on my blog, starring William Shatner as the Accordion Player and Diane Keaton as me, I thought it would be a great idea to have my acceptance speech ready. I am sharing it now. As I said, things aren’t looking good for any red carpets. (Although I might get a red runner for my staircase, but I digress).

I want to thank all of you in the academy/associated press/Man Booker prize committee/New York Times Bestseller List conglomerate/Dayton Rotary Club for this award. It’s beautiful/an honor/heavy/engraved with my initials/huge and ornate/a tribute to all my hard work. I am here today (in my ball gown/red dress/black slimming pantsuit/corporate sharkskin) to tell you all a tale of one woman, one laptop, a cup of coffee and a blog roll, and how I came to take the world of cyberspace by storm.

It all started in a small way, as all things do. I needed a creative outlet, an escape from the quotidian, which in my case was “Lady of Spain” wafting up from the basement, and a dishwasher full of dishes that “Cascade Complete” couldn’t quite handle. My life was pleasant, but just a little boring. I wrote a few emails to friends, whom I thought would identify with my plight, and before I knew it, those emails became a blog.

I discovered the world of social media. Facebook. Twitter. Stumbleupon (well, I still really don’t get Stumbleupon), Google+. The world was my oyster. I could comment from my pantry, often in pajamas, about the world as I see it. I tackled burning issues. Well, hot flashes. I took on the challenge of menopause, became an advocate for frozen entrees, and before I knew it, I found others who were just like me! Only much younger! Calling themselves “mommy bloggers,” these women were apparently just looking for someone older and wiser to advise them and tell them that raising children isn’t all that the media cracks it up to be.

Soon, I was writing for men as well. Men, like my husband, who seem to have trouble expressing their emotions. Men who, when asked how they feel about their sexuality, say “I don’t know.” I became the voice of the ages (aged). My blogs were appreciated by my neighbors. People recognized my avatar. Life became full. I felt the need to wear makeup more frequently.

I have been privileged to meet many celebrities (Ronald McDonald) and exchange ideas in many different forums (the nail salon, at Weight Watchers). I started in my pantry with one laptop, and suddenly, I have a career (in the pantry with a better laptop).

I want to thank Twitter, Facebook, Stumbleupon (I have to; it seems to be working), and Klout (I don’t really get that one, either). And I will display this trophy/statuette/silver tray/Emmy award/lifetime membership to the gym/Pulitzer Prize/brand new Popeil Slicer/Dicer proudly. I couldn’t have done it without all the little people that I may have taken advantage of in my wild ascent to greatness. To them, I give this toast: “Down the hatch.”

Oh, and I thank my husband (you have to thank your husband—Hilary Swank looked like a jerk when she forgot to thank hers. And look where her career went after that).