Saturday, January 08, 2005
Oh Cruel Choreographers Above. No sooner do I rejoice over the son being in London for two out of the four weeks of his college break when someone upstairs decides to throw me a curve ball. "Hee, hee," he/she says. "Let's lob her this one." "Oh god," he/she says, "Isn't that funny?" i.e. try being in the house with an eighteen-year-old, dieting, pre-menstrual, just-had-an-'extra'-tooth extracted, snowbound/cabin-fevered, recently boyfriend-less daughter for four weeks after you had just gotten used to life without kids. Um-hmmm. Really nice. Really. I haven't watched the news in ages because she has occupied the downstairs with no chance of access to the T.V. without feeling like you crossed onto the wrong generational track. Thanks online Google News. I don't know what I would do without you. Nonetheless I love this straight-A, focused, blonde, curvy, kind-hearted girl with all my heart. She is everything I am not (see afore-mentioned sentence).
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