A postcard I sent to my parents from New York City to Oregon in October, 2008, turned up in their mailbox. (Where it has been in the interim might make an excellent plot for a novel. Or not.)
My husband presented me with a tube of bacon chapstick. (Note to the manufacturer—An appealing food does not necessarily translate well into an appealing personal care product)
Chicken Noodle burst into a near-perfect rendition of Carole King’s “It’s Too Late” at the dinner table, a song I am fairly certain she has heard only a few times in her life and not at all recently. (I am considering the possibility of her reincarnation. Do you think she was at Woodstock? Do you think she died at Woodstock?)
Someone put $3000 on my credit card in a restaurant in Beverly Hills. (Sounds fun. Wish I’d been there.)
I rewrote and saved an essay three times, each of which the changes were not there when I reopened the document. (God? Are you trying to tell me something? Is it about my writing? Or Windows Office?)
I did a four-day no meat, no dairy, no eggs, no sugar, no corn, no wheat cleanse, and felt strangely non-plussed about the whole experience. (Wasn’t I supposed to be transformed instantly into a younger, more vibrant me? Made to levitate? Or at least lightened by a few pounds?)
Someone offered me a leech. (OK, this was in a dream. I declined. Still, I can’t help but wonder if it means something. Is there bloodletting in my future?)
I went to Kindergarten orientation but failed to realize I was supposed to take my future Kindergartner with me. (No one tells you anything, apparently. You have to figure it all out yourself).
Captain Daddy went in the women’s restroom of a new local restaurant, peed and washed his hands before a woman came in and interrupted his reverie. (He was completely unbothered by the whole affair. This is why I love him.)