Today my mother came over and presented me with an entire new wardrobe. I thought I hit the jackpot, until it dawned on me that she was getting rid of her fat clothes.
When I aspired to be twice the woman my mother is, this is not what I had in mind.
On days like this, it seems ironic that the first thing to go flying off the shelves in every store along the coast was water.
All Doug heard into the wee hours of the morning: “What’s that rustling in the ceiling? It’s a mouse. Do we have to hire an exterminator? Listen. No, I think it’s a chipmunk. I am not killing a chipmunk. Or maybe it’s a squirrel? Where the hell do we have a squirrel-sized hole in the house?”
When morning arrived, the real culprit revealed itself: a surviving helium birthday balloon, dancing to the air conditioner.
This afternoon as I finally poured my first coffee of the day, the cup began to shake. Now, from beneath the rubble, three profound thoughts resonate through my mind: (1) despite what my kids think, I’m too young to die; (2) while I’m trapped under here, the rest of the world goes about squashing dictators without me; and (3) somewhere amidst the chaos and debris, my coffee is getting really, really cold.