Last week, a few of my students asked about my high school experience in the 80’s. What did we wear? What were record stores like? Were there richie kids? Did I make my own prom dress? Eventually I had to tell them that I didn’t grow up on the set of Pretty in Pink.
In a recent email exchange, I told my sister that my phone likes to suggest a number of (usually unhelpful) responses to her messages. For example, when she told me she almost coughed to death on a bus, my phone suggested:
When Haddy asked how many of my emails have been automatically generated, I guessed about 87%. (I don’t have time to respond to every near-death experience that woman has.)
Lately, 2.0 has been trying out a new nickname for me: Lil’ Stuff. Maybe I should start killing off some of the characters on this blog…
I’m still working on the sets for my next teeny-tiny ballet. Occasionally, I think: why the hell am I doing this? And then I remember that I don’t have anything fulfilling happening in my life right now.
Sometimes I tell Effie she’s very pretty, and then I feel bad because I should probably be telling her she’s intelligent and can do anything boys can do. Do cats care about feminism?
My left eyebrow is constantly raised because my eyelid droops due to a birth defect. Except I don’t think we’re supposed to say birth defect anymore. I believe my eye is now considered aesthetically challenged. Anyhoo, my brow is perma-lifted to hold my eye open. So most of the time people think I’m being like this:
When I’m actually being like this:
A couple of nights ago, I returned home from work to find footprints going up to our front door in the fresh snow, but none leaving. Given that the snow had only started few minutes before I arrived, I knew the tracks were fresh. 2.0 was away for work, so when speaking to him on the phone I mentioned the possibility of a crazed killer in the house. I told him how much I love him, and then gave him some details to pass on to the police should it become necessary. He responded with, “Okay, honey. Did you check every closet?” What is it like, I wonder? Never worrying about assassination. Some of us shall never know such things.