“Something tasty from behind the counter?” The hottest woman working the coffee shop asked me. It’s the first time in the months that I’ve been coming here that she apparently noticed me. Rarely has a week gone by that I didn’t notice she was wearing a different black sweater, a different knitted bracelet, a new pair of her earrings.
We smiled at each other for a few moments, before it became uncomfortable, appreciating the innuendo.
I know we’ve never met in person but I’ve been really distracted by you lately. I can’t tell you how often I’ve been in the middle of work, dealing with clients, and thought, “Wow, I could really go for a juicy plate of Ossobucco right now, but who has the time?” Then I think of you and my mind goes numb. Your stainless steel, your non-stick easy clean liner… The thought of your Power Chopper, included free, just sends me over the edge.
You want to grab a bite sometime? You bring the heat and I’ll bring the meat (and vegetables and sauce). Let’s chill. Or chili or stew. Whatever. HMU. But keep it discreet. My NuWave thinks she’s my BAE.
This probably makes me the worst dad ever, but when the boys are horsing around and someone inevitably gets hurt….I’m usually unsympathetic. After assessing that it isn’t a serious injury, I ask 3 basic questions:
1. Are you bleeding?
2. Is it broken?
3. Do I need to cut it off?
If the coast is clear, as insult to injury, “You going to do that again?”
I discovered a new theory of physics this morning while cleaning up an entire bucket of dry oatmeal spilled in the pantry: the amount of debris that sticks inside the broom and then drops onto the area you just swept increases inversely proportional to the decreasing amount of time you have to deal with this shit.
I thought about trying yoga, but having to post a selfie to Instagram with an inspirational quote on every new pose seemed too overwhelming. Just like drinking a new smoothie at the gym or getting my nails done before a holiday. I just don’t need the pressure to post that…or be seen in those tights/hot shorts things…..guuuurl….
Have you ever broken a sweat scrambling to clean up the kitchen, scrub down the kids, and return the house to a façade of order just 10 minutes before your spouse arrives home after leaving you in charge of all the kids and errands for a day? Only so that you can throw yourself onto the sofa, baby and bottle in hand, composed like nothing has happened all day, when she walks through the door to casually say, “Oh, hey! You’re home,” like it was a pleasant but unnecessary surprise.