Well-meaning women sometimes say to me, “I just don’t know how you do it.” I could be wrong, but I think they are referring to the fact that I have a family and a full-time job, plus the completion of a doctoral degree looming over my head, yet I manage to bathe and dress myself, show up on time to all the places I need to be, and try to exhibit some sense while I’m there.
Lately, my stock answer for that well-intentioned comment is, “Well, I don’t, really.”
I’m not trying to be snarky; I just feel like I’m only barely keeping myself together. There’s some half-assery going on. Hence the extended time between posts on this blog.
And last week, I had a fetal-position moment that resolved itself only through Eddie rubbing slow circles on my back and speaking in low tones — you know, the way you speak to some rabid animal that’s gotten between you and your back door. I’m sure he wished he could consult some kind of Wife Manual.
Anyway, when I am feeling low, I like to cheer myself up with Damn You, Auto Correct! There I find treasures like this:
There now … Don’t you feel better? I know I do.
Observe and report 