Close encounters

1. Somebody looked like somebody I know, with the blue sweatsuit and the lack of makeup — the worried look on her face. Her name was not Chris. This woman had different hair, too. But she was browsing the new age books, so theoretically, it could have been her, but it turned out that it wasn’t.

2. This time someone looked like my former coworker. She had corn-colored hair with dark roots and a long pony tail, but she wasn’t pregnant. I cannot remember a time when my coworker was not somewhere along in the nine-month cycle. She was always either with child or on maternity leave. Also, this woman was drinking coffee, and that is not recommended during pregnancy (on the off-chance that it really was my former coworker but she just wasn’t showing yet.)


I am here to say please do not bother getting all your ducks in a row. You will only die trying. Anything recommended in a row is twisted wisdom — masochistic at best.


Oddly, I do not actually own a crotch rocket. I have only thought longingly about riding one, as well as obsessing over where I would put groceries and what if I fell.

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