As most of you know I’m not much for opacity. Which is why I’m sharing with you this week our household has been a bit hellish…not fire and brimstone, on a scale 1-10..mmm, about a 7, a manageable, yet prickly hell. You see, our household is currently under the influence of my lovely beau going through a detox cleanse, my PMS symptoms, the buzzing lunacy of the full moon and mercury retrograde. The latter, in case you’re unaware, stunts all forms of communication. So you see, our household has devolved into what my father used to call ‘grouch land’. The universe must have heard my war cry, because as I was washing the dishes yesterday the old James Taylor song came to mind, “In my mind I’m going to Carolina..” essentially calling, “Jennifer, gooooo to your happy place!”
Against All Odds
It happened on the dance floor of my eighth grade cotillion. My boyfriend of six months broke up with me and it went down like this. We slow danced as Phil Collins pledged his love in “Against All Odds”. The lights were dimmed save for the sparkle of the rotating mirrored globe on the ceiling casting blue flecks across the hopeful face of my beau. And then he said it,
“When are we gonna go to 3rd base?”
“Umm neVER!” I blurted. At thirteen I knew that we’d of course be together forever, but the thought of progressing our physical relationship past french-kissing and holding hands hadn’t infiltrated my naivety.
“Then I need to break up with you.” he said flatly and with that dislodged from our slowdance embrace and walked away into the cavernous dark stretch of the dancehall.