Jane: When I have my next mid-life crisis, I’m totally getting a Vespa scooter.
Flora: What did you do the last time you had a mid-life crisis?
Cinder: The less said about that the better.
I kind of agree, but I whack him on the head with my purse (not full of rocks) anyway.
Cinder: But you know, you won’t. You’ll do the math, and you’ll go on a trip instead.
Yeah. Probably. But on my trip—I’m gonna ride a Vespa scooter…
(In a garish, girly colour. Lime green. Hot pink. Sunshine yellow. Oh yeah.)
You: Not a Harley?
Me: Been her, over that.
I’m working in a café, and there is a table of three women near me mapping out a strategy for their business. It will be immensely successful. Because of the youngest chica in the group, the most intense, most passionate, most dominant one.
Except… that youngest chica? The most intense, most talented one? I’m pretty sure she’s going to drop dead of a heart attack by 35. I want to prescribe meditation. Medication. Or a torrid love affair.
Maybe a Vespa. She looks like she’s due for an early mid-life crisis…
Why, yes, I have decided that writing blog posts in very short Roman-numeral numbered verses is my new thing. I’m doing it for your ADD.
And perhaps, mine.
Ender: Mama-my-mama-mia-mama, FEED ME NOW!
Jane: Will! You! Stop! Yelling! At! Me!
Ender: I! Can’t! Help! It! When! I’m! Quiet! You! Don’t! Listen!
Sean: Does it count as date night if we’re both sitting next to each other at the kitchen table working on the same project on our two different laptops?
Jane: Yes. So long as we’re drinking wine, yes.
Have you ever noticed how, when you have so much work to do it’s overwhelming, paralyzing, and you’re pretty sure there is no way in hell you will ever get it done, instead of attacking it in small, manageable chunks, you kind of ignore the whole thing and decide THIS is the weekend to paint the kitchen?
No? Never mind then.