… But Why?

I was just innocently walking amongst the aisles at Kroger when my eyeballs were thus assaulted:

I don’t know why this cereal exists, but I’m pretty sure I just got diabetes from standing within a few feet of it.

Why, Hostess?

This Puzzle is Freaking Me Out #WFH

Yesterday:

So I was hoping one of the neighbor’s kids was screwing with me, because I was intermittently hearing this weird meowing sound. And, like, we don’t have a cat.

But then I realized, it was likely one of the baby’s puzzles. You know those magnetic ones, where it makes animal noises if you line up the puzzle piece the right way? We have one of those with farm animals, including a cat.

So I got up from my computer to look for it. And he must have, like, shoved it under the entertainment center or somewhere weird, because I could not find it.

And of course, my husband and kids were out of the apartment on a walk. So I had to go back to my computer and just sit in front of it, trying to work, only somewhat succeeding, and hearing random meows. And then moos (which at least confirmed it was definitely the baby puzzle).

The weirdest part? The cat sound hasn’t been working, even when my son does line up the puzzle piece the right way. I thought it was broken.

Apparently, it was just biding its’ time…

Plague-Induced Publishing Controversy

I saw that the Authors’ Guild and Association of American Publishers are pretty pissed about the “National Emergency Library” recently released by Internet Archives, and had to click that bait. I mean, the Authors’ Guild and AAP are presumably not angry that people might be reading, right? So from whence does this anger arise? Turns out, they just want authors to, like, be compensated fairly and be able to eat and shit.

So what is the Internet Archive, and what’s the big deal? The Internet Archive is a project whereby media, including books, are scanned into this large database that is made freely available to the public. Since IA defines itself as a “library,” it stresses books the most. And that sounds great, right? Making literature and other stuff widely available to everyone with access to the internet? The problem is that a lot of the books available in this library are not yet public domain, and the IA obtains it’s digital copies via upload from literally anyone. So instead of a regular library, which still supports authors and publishers by ordering physical books, audiobooks, and digital rights, the IA is just sharing whatever anyone has uploaded without appropriately paying the creators and companies that helped these books to exist in the world.

This is from the IA “About” page.

I did a lazy, cursory search, and found I can borrow a Harry Potter book by simply signing up for a free account. I know Rowling does not need the money, but what about the average author? I was curious – I mean, maybe the Authors’ Guild and AAP are just being drama queens, right? (Don’t give me that look; we all do it.) So I did some research, and the average author makes $4,500 on a traditionally published book:

This infograph I whipped together assumes that the book is hardcover (royalty percentages are lower, on average, for paperback sales), and that the author was not paid an advance (since publishers need to fully recoup the advance amount before the author will see a dime of royalties post-publication). So, on average, an author makes the equivalent of about 4 months of minimum wage for 1 book. Considering the time that is poured into creating, editing, selling, and polishing a novel, that author has probably invested more than 16 weeks into the novel.

Now, most authors are not planning to get rich off of their novels. Only the very lucky get to just write novels for a living. (I guess this applies to non-fiction authors, as well; I don’t know, I rarely read non-fiction, because why wallow in reality more than you fucking have to…) So most authors are supplementing, not living entirely off of the royalty income from their books. But most authors are also already making less than minimum wage – is it really fair to rip a hole in their pockets, and follow behind to pick up the change that falls therefrom?

Schmorona-virus

Hello, and welcome to my random blog about coronavirus, which roughly translates to “crown poison” (story prompt, anyone…?). If you’re not reading this from the comfort of home, you’re an asshole, and if you’re sick of your home, that sucks, because you’re stuck there for awhile.

I, myself, have been navigating the tricky waters of working from home while trying to prevent my older son’s brain from rotting. His school has provided resources on-line, including something called Lexia Core5, which is designed to help the kids learn to read and gain literacy skills. But secretly, Lexia appears to just be another roadblock on the road of learning, and, like, not allowing large companies to obtain and retain monopolies. For those who, like me, purchased Galaxy tablets for their kid to use instead of an overpriced tablet named after a fruit, you are out of luck if your kid is supposed to use Lexia Core 5, since the Company has released an updated version of the app in 2019 that is only available for iPads. So nice of this educational cog to try to force schools and parents to keep Apple in business even though the company has a history of purposefully slowing down its speed to try to get people to buy the latest version, as well as current lawsuits about artificially keeping the resale market high. Lexia, as a company, I now strongly disapprove of you and hope you, your developers, and especially your CEO eat a big bag of sweaty ol’ balls, because you suck so hard if you had a single penis or related paraphernalia in your mouth, you would pull it off of the unfortunate man trying to be pleasured.

In between worksheets, tablet-learning, and very chaotic, shout-laden, dubiously productive classroom meetings held via Zoom, my kid has been playing video games, and watching movies. Grandma got us a subscription to Disney+, which convinces me that Disney will win the streaming race, because who doesn’t love Disney? It has the classic Disney princess movies, some Kurt Russell as Dexter the college kid movies, and all of those slightly awful original movies, including the weird ones that you completely forgot about that now begs you to turn it into a drinking game. Speaking of Disney – if you haven’t heard about Vanessa Hudgens, she didn’t check-in with her agent before posting an Instagram live where she basically laughs because people are going to die of coronavirus, unlike her, since she’s, you know, young and rich and shit. This weirdly inappropriate session was likely inspired as a reaction to the possibility that quarantine could last through July or August and cancel Coachella, and was followed up by a bullshit apology (I love when people claim their words got “taken out of context,” which is almost never true), presumably so people can feel okay about liking High School Musical or something.

But not everyone is a terrible person (just most people), as has been proven by Mo Willems’ delightful lunch doodle sessions, and “Frozen” actor Josh Gad, who is reading stories on Twitter every night to help soothe those bundles of unused energy to sleep.

What about you guys – any fun/crazy stories to share? Or resources to help us through our isolation?

On Getting Shit Done #Goalz

So… some of you may remember my lofty goal of writing 2k words while on vacation. Which, unsurprisingly, did not happen.

#howembarrassing

And with this time of year, and my increasing frustration with feeling like I’m not performing as well as I want to at work, not mothering my children as well as I want to at home, and not fulfilling my creative needs ever, I’ve been thinking a little bit about goals.

I know, I know, talking about goals sounds kind of lame. So maybe we shouldn’t call them goals – basically, I’ve been trying to figure out how do I stop feeling like such a failure and start getting shit done. And what specific shit would I like to get done.

So, here are my steps to identify what shit I am going to push myself to accomplish in 2020:

  1. Take a deep breath, and think about what areas of my life I want to see changes for in 2020. You can’t come up with goals if you don’t really know what you want. I already mentioned the areas of my life I want to see changes: employment, family/motherhood, and creative/writing.
  2. Think through what, specifically, is causing unhappiness in these areas. You can’t come up with appropriate goals if you are not specific enough. From hereon out, I will solely be discussing my creative/writing goals, because, like, everyone hates their job and all mothers feel like most of their actions are just fodder for their child(ren)’s future therapy sessions. So hopefully, focusing on my goal that is more likely shared by you guys will make this post more interesting. If not, my bad, but, like – thanks for reading.
  3. Think about the large long-term goal I want to achieve in 2020 (i.e., what do I want to brag about achieving). For me, I want to begin writing more. I’m not planning to write my novel this year, or get published, etc. I just want to formulate the habit of writing more frequently. (Maybe next year, I can focus on getting published, writing novel, etc.)
  4. Think about an appropriate, achievable short-term goal I want to achieve throughout 2020 that will help me with my long-term goal. Note the use of the adjective achievable. There’s no point in setting a goal that sounds so difficult that it will feel infinitely easier to lie in bed and stare at the wall than even attempt them. Should your “shit-I’m-going-to-get-done” list push you? Absolutely. Should this list be so difficult that the likelihood you will achieve them is akin to winning the lottery? Probably not. At least, that doesn’t work for me. I want to write more – it would be nice to be writing daily, or almost daily by the end of the year. And I think the way to do that is to get more organized and focus on completing the stories that excite me in a more timely manner. To assist with this organizational need, I went to Barnes & Noble the other day and purchased a planner (thank you, 50% off on planners now that Xmas is over). My short-term goal is to write at least one short story each month. To do this, I am planning to write in the story I’m working on in my planner, and marking the dates that I write so I can force myself to visually see how far I am getting with this goal. Writing one short story each month will push me, and will help me to create that habit of writing nearly every day.

So that’s it! Obligatory New Year’s reflection on the shit I’m going to get done in 2020 accomplished. My other reflections on 2019 posts will probably wait until February through March, because everyone’s doing reflection posts, and so I think it would be boring to do it now. Also, there is other stuff I want to write about that excites me more, so I’m going to do that (assuming I can find time to write blog posts, since accountants are a smidge busy this time of year).

What about you guys? Have any goals in 2020? Share with me in the comments below! Remember, the more people you talk to about your goals, the more pressure you will induce in yourself to accomplish those goals.

“No pressure,” they said…. “It will be a great workout, they said…”

Victorian Santa is Depressed as Fuck

I’m signed up for this e-newsletter, solely to receive a free graphic each week. The graphics are Victorian, and sometimes, they are great, and sometimes, they are not great. Last Friday’s image was one of the great ones; I call it, “Santa is depressed:”

Looking at those bleak eyes and quizzically raised bushy right eyebrow, I have to assume the “Joyful” documented in red cursive below is being used sarcastically. This is not the face of a joyful man…

I had to wonder – was Victorian Santa always this dour? So like any respectable millennial, I googled Victorian Santa pictures to discern that no, he was sometimes jolly. However, he was also often decidedly not jolly. Obviously, this post will be focusing on the latter pictures.

Meet “Santa’s meds ran out and now he has no idea what is going on. Also, life is meaningless, and what’s the point:”

“I want this candy cane so badly I would literally kill for it, but my wife claims I have to give it to the fucking kids because – diabetes:”

“It is cold as balls out here. Can’t these reindeer go any faster?!”

“[insert evil laugh] I am going to give Timmy coal even though he has been a good boy. Just because I can:”

“I delivered toys to children all over the world and all I got was this lousy tree:”

“Can you turn those fucking bells down? Santa has a migraine, and is barely holding it together:”

“I look as old as I feel. Will I ever be able to retire? This job might literally kill me:”

Do you have another depressing Victorian Santa? Or a different caption for one of the pictures already shown? Please share in the comments below!

Kindergarten Lessons Are Hard to Learn

Have you guys heard of this Dessen controversy? It’s kind of crazy! And also, the degree of contention expressed over who was “right” and who was “totally out of line” is vastly out of proportion to something that, frankly, boils down to something you’ve probably been hearing since you were a little kid: Two Wrongs Don’t Make a Right.

For those who have been blissfully unaware of what’s going on, some pretentious alum from Northern State University dissed Dessen’s book Saint Anything, dismissing it as a work for “teens,” not real people. (I’m paraphrasing, but that’s still pretty much what she said.) Because, you know, officially graduating from college and beginning to chip away at crippling student debt while working a soul-sucking job makes you more of a person than you were as a carefree high school student who still had the luxury of being excited and caring about shit.

And then, Dessen complained on Twitter, because the casually cruel words of some chick vainly posturing in an attempt to seem smart hurt her feelings. And Dessen’s girlfriends let her know that yes, she was a person who had put herself out there by allowing her precious, fragile book into the world, and the casually cruel chick definitely didn’t need to be such a dick about it if she didn’t like her writing.

I mean, calling her a “fucking bitch” in the public eye is a bit much, but I get it. Give me a few margaritas and I’ll be giving you a side hug and calling anyone who has deigned to look at you funny a fucking bitch, too. And no, I don’t really need margaritas to do that, at all, but I like tequila, and most people aren’t as honest as me.

What I love is that the girl who got called out for saying something shitty, is all like, “But I study online bullying! And while I think that trash is below the standard, because we all know I went to school with people far less intellectually superior than I am, #smartpeopleprobs, I recommended the winner, and vouched for other books that include diversity. So basically, you can’t call me a bad person, and you have to love me. And love means never having to say you’re sorry.” (I’m paraphrasing, but that’s still pretty much what she said.)

If you stand by what you said, cool. But you’re still dissing the author who spent time and energy creating this book that you deem “not good enough” (I’m paraphrasing, but that’s still pretty much what she said). And you’re also dissing the people who read that book, and to whom it spoke, and who thought the meaning and beauty that they derived was not isolated to just them. When you say: “She’s fine for teen girls… But definitely not up to the level of Common Read,” (that one actually is a direct quote) you are stating your opinion in a fairly mean way. And frankly, I think less of your intelligence, because you seem to be pushing so hard to flaunt that you’re not one of “those girls” who read Dessen. And to follow up with – “My quote was taken out of context; I also argued for three books [that] are beautifully written and push readers to stand against the racial inequality that the judicial system perpetuates, to consider the heritability and influence of tradition and trauma, and to contemplate what brings meaning to one’s life,” your argument doesn’t hold water. Because you didn’t explain how your quote was taken out of context. You just explained how you’re super awesome because you’re well-read and wanted to make sure everyone in your alma mater read a book that you liked, after denigrating a book that other people thought everyone should maybe read. So stop underestimating other people’s intelligence, and if you feel that strongly that Sarah Dessen is a shitty writer, then stick by it when her legion of followers decide to harass you on Twitter. Or maybe just, like, stop using Twitter or something. Don’t you have more books to read to make sure that college students everywhere aren’t reading shit you don’t deem good enough?

But Nelson isn’t the only one who messed up. Dessen’s reaction to reading Nelson’s words (however she found out about it; this is the age of the Internet, so not quite sure why the Washington Post finds this so weird) is completely understandable. And wanting to vent to her friends, and then get sympathy from her friends – also completely understandable.

Except that Dessen’s “friends” on social media consist of quite a large population of people. Like, if you wanted to audit the number of people following Dessen on Twitter are real people, you would be looking at quite a large sample size. So Sarah Dessen should have thought a little bit more about whether or not she really wanted to post. Having personally followed Dessen (#bias), I kind of feel like she’s honestly just a super sweet person who posts unfiltered content on her Twitter, Instagram, what-have-you. So this word vomit simply poured forth from her fingers, akin to everything else she posted. That is just a guess, however; I have met the author (twice) in person, but I don’t really know her. Maybe her feelings got hurt and she intentionally and maliciously posted a fairly innocuous post about how she had worked hard on her novel and the comment’s venomous slant had hit her hard knowing that fans would see it and instantly swarm to her defense. Maybe she wanted this person to really understand the power that words hold. Perhaps her post, which doesn’t even sound that bad to me, was carefully crafted to appeal to the unwise, sociopathic, and/or bitchy members of her fan base.

Or maybe she posted something without really thinking through the potential consequences, and then when she realized how the other person was being unfairly attacked, took her post down and issued a public apology. I don’t know. I’m not a mind reader.

I do know that both parties did something wrong, and both should apologize (one already has). But given that these women are no longer under the sway of a kindergarten teacher, if they haven’t already done so, it’s doubtful they will do so, now.

What are your thoughts on this current event? Do you take a side? Not care? Are you a mind reader, and do you actually know the intentions behind what either of the involved persons did?

Arsenic and Old Friends

It’s a little rough, but here is my story, prompted by M of Putting My Feet in the Dirt’s February 2019 Writing Prompts:

“Peach coffee and hazelnut tea?” The words slurred listlessly out of the orange-hued lips of the barista, whose eyes were heavy with sleep and mascara. Morgan smiled and said thank you, both actions that went unacknowledged, although Morgan liked to think that her actions were both charming and meaningful, and would slightly brighten the barista’s day, or at least change the world. She picked up the steaming mugs, and took them to a small table by the window out of which her companion Anna was staring intently.

“Here is your disgusting beverage,” Morgan said cheerfully, the harshness of her adjective belied by the gentleness used to set down the drink. “Although it’s possible it’s coffee.”

Anna looked at her, right eyebrow quizzically raised.

“I’m assuming the barista misspoke,” Morgan said. “But maybe the universe decided to save you from yourself; specifically, your cafe decisions.”

“But I can’t drink coffee!” Anna laughed, rubbing her stomach gently.

“The kid’s not even born yet, and you’re going to let him just walk all over you! First, it starts with what you can eat and drink, then it’s going to be what clothes you can wear… what next? What hairstyle you have? Where will the madness end? You need to take a stance, Anna, and I think that stance should start with coffee.”

“She is a bit of a monster, but what can I do? She takes after me,” Anna replied, taking a small sip of her drink, and then a large gulp. “And if I was going to ‘take a stance,’ as you put it, it would not be with peach coffee, which I sincerely hope is not a thing, because it sounds disgusting.”

“True,” Morgan said. “Almost as gross as peach tea.”

“What do you have against tea? It’s good for you, especially when it’s not caffeinated, and it’s delicious. Try it.” The diamond solitaire on Anna’s left hand flashed as she nudged her mug across the table.

Morgan’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “I will not try it. I am a true American; tea is for wankers who try to make me pay taxes.”

“I think the people trying to make you pay taxes – and succeeding, I might add, since they’re automatically deducted from your paycheck – are also coffee-drinking, ‘true’ Americans.”

“Anna – must we really discuss politics? I thought I was in polite society. Such poor taste.” Morgan clucked her tongue and shook her head.

“I hardly think you would meet with me if you wanted polite society. And you started it!”

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Morgan faux-chided. “I was merely discussing history, with no political intentions whatsoever.”

“Mm-hm. And what’s the historical significance of your hazelnut latte, exactly?”

“I have had them to drink before, and I like them,” Morgan replied.

Anna laughed. “Fair enough. And I like my baby-healthy, fruit-flavored tea.”

“… do you? Really?”

“I mean… not as much as coffee. But yes.”

“Ugh, I’m sorry. I forgot you couldn’t have caffeine when I suggested meeting here, to be honest.” Morgan had not forgotten. The small, bitter seeds within her heart had overtaken her intellect and social consciousness. She knew that she should be more kind, if anything, to her friend, but it was difficult to be kind, sometimes, to someone for whom everything came so easily.

“I’ve always liked Julie’s,” Anna replied, “even when I’m not drinking her caffeinated ambrosia. If nothing else, the view is great.”

“These turquoise chairs are trendy,” Morgan agreed.

“I was thinking more of the view out of the window,” Anna corrected. “I was looking outside at the trees while you waited for our drinks.”

Morgan looked out of the window, but failed to find much of interest. Maybe pregnancy hormones made the three trees outside appear more beautiful, or created the optical illusion that three trees made a forest or something.

“Do you think the trunk of a tree ever gets jealous?” Anna asked.

“Um… what?”

“The roots do important work, and obtain the nutrients that the entire tree will use to survive. The foliage, flowers, and fruit draw the eye of those who behold it, providing beauty and sometimes even food to others. And while the trunk has an important function, keeping the roots and the leaves connected, it is not a very difficult function, and at the end of the day, it’s really just a hollow husk.”

“… I’m going to be honest with you, Anna. I have no idea what you’re talking about, but I’m pretty sure the hallucinogens causing you to spout this nonsense are not good for the baby.”

Anna smiled, the pointed tips of her small canine teeth flashing for a second before disappearing beneath her upper lip. “Did you know, that night when we met Ben for the first time, I actually thought he was interested in you?”

… The bright sunshine streaming in through the window morphed into the hazy, sweat and smoke-filled air of the Lazy Star, the dark dive bar where most of Morgan’s nights ended. She was holding two flavored vodka shots, and was in the midst of passing one to the tipsy-but-not-yet-inebriated-enough Anna when he walked up.

“Oh em gee, look at that hawt guy coming over!” Anna trilled, seeming excited for the first time in days about something other than wallowing over her failed relationship with Craig, whom Morgan had always thought was kind of a dick, but had underestimated the impact his “I thought I loved you… but I don’t” would have on her friend. Morgan had been secretly worried that not even a night out with potentiality for alcohol poisoning seemed to be ameliorative, and felt her muscles relax as she was suffused with relief.

“Hello, my name is Ben,” he said, hand on his chest as he talked in a host-like manner, which Morgan had thought was funny until she later learned that he was one of the owners of the bar. “And I would love to buy you ladies a drink.” He tried to catch Morgan’s eye, but she was here for her friend tonight, and shut-down any bedtime vibes his dark blue eyes would have prompted in ordinary circumstances.

“Hi Ben! I’m Anna,” her friend said, smile too wide, tone too loud and perky. “And my friend only got me one shot of vodka.” Her lower lip pouted out in a manner intended to be cute.

“Hi Anna,” Ben said. “We’ll have to fix that. More shots? Or would you or… ” He looked at Morgan briefly. “… your friend… like something else?”

Anna looked at Morgan, who could see her company was no longer desired. “Actually,” she said. “I just realized, I have to head out. So sorry to do this, Anna, but I just remembered that I have this meeting for work tomorrow that I forgot to do my slide deck for.”

“You have a meeting on a Saturday?” Ben had asked, clearly not wanting her to leave.

“Yep,” Morgan lied. “The joys of being an accountant. Every day is a long day at the beginning of the year.”

“Oh no! You’re leaving?!” Anna faux-protested. “And I was having such a good time…” She looked over at Ben, batted her eyelashes.

He behaved like a gentleman, reading the signals and giving the desired response. Morgan handed over the shots, and walked out. She had assumed it would be a healthy, consensual one-night stand; instead, her friend had hopped into a new relationship…

The light in the cafe suddenly seems glaringly bright. “Me?!”she laughed. “Who would find me interesting when you’re around, Anna?” She meant the words more than she wished.

“Well, I mean, not as marriage material,” Anna replied. “Obviously.” She laughed at Morgan’s quizzical expression. “I mean, you didn’t even know who he was!”

“… you did?” Morgan asked, remembering how her friend had suddenly seemed so much more inebriated. She had assumed Anna simply hadn’t eaten; that the liquor had quickly gone to her head (and libido).

“Ben Wellesley?! Of course I did. He’s been on the hottest 30 under 30 list since he was of legal age. When he walked up to us, I frankly thought I didn’t stand a chance. Historically, he hadn’t gone for my type. But I lucked out; he was ready to settle down.”

“Your marriage is much more calculated than I realized,” Morgan said, stunned. “Do you really love him at all, then? Do you really want to have his baby?”

Anna’s blonde hair glistened in the sunlight, bright as her diamond ring, which glittered where it rested on her stomach. “Of course I do. This is how I lock him in… And he can’t tell me to get rid of it; he has to pretend to be excited.”

Morgan was slightly impressed and simultaneously horrified.

“But,” Anna continued. “This baby will become the new trunk holding us together. Ben is the roots, providing our sustenance. I am the beauty, obviously, taking my daily pilates and spin classes to stay slim and appear delicate. Which means… the old trunk is no longer needed.”

“… I don’t know what you mean.” Although, of course, she did.

“The old trunk has to go away. Find a new set of roots.”

… She came upon Ben standing outside of Tiffany’s, coveted small blue box in his hand.

“Is that the ring?” she asked, coming up to him. “How exciting! Can I see it? How are you going to propose?”

He looked over at her, eyes slightly glazed. Wordlessly, he handed over the box.

It was so delicate. Morgan had never received or purchased jewelry from Tiffany’s, but now that she was peeling off the ribbon, gently lifting the lid of the box, and peeking into the satin-encased future of her friend – she got it. She felt delicate and special just getting to hold the damn thing; just imagine if it was for her. The sunlight caught the diamond, causing it to shine bright enough to hurt her eyes. It was considerable in size, and nearly colorless; Anna would love it. Any girl would love it. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed, closing the box and handing it back to her friend’s near-fiance.

“It is,” he murmured. It was strange to see him this way; Ben was always so confident, and occasionally even witty, when Morgan encountered him in social situations. But right now, he was so pale it was as though the sunlight shining in full force upon everything else had muted its ultraviolet rays just for him.

“C’mon, let’s go grab a coffee,” Morgan said, grabbing his arm and dragging him towards the nearest Starbucks. “I’m jonesing for some caffeine, and want to help you plan your proposal.”

She selected and purchased his coffee for him (caramel macchiato, because she had no clue what he liked but was fairly certain nearly everyone liked that one), along with two warm chocolate chip cookies (because everything’s better with chocolate chip cookies, even when they’re not mom’s).

“Just what I needed,” Morgan purred, luxuriating in her first sip. She had been working too many hours; she tried to keep on a happy face, but it was a miracle she was even functioning at this point. She had begun having very vivid, detailed, boring dreams about spreadsheets that caused her to startle awake in a panic, only to realize that despite knowing how ridiculous she was being, she still couldn’t go back to sleep.

Ben laughed. “You’re always enjoying life, aren’t you?”

“You have to,” Morgan replied. “We only get one.

“With pressure like that, how can you be certain you’ve met ‘the one?'” He asked, his right hand straying to the pocket holding the little blue box.

“Don’t go all nineties rom-com on me, Wellesley. Anna’s the one. You’ve been dating her for 2.5 years now, and I’ve never even seen you guys get in an argument.”

“Exactly! Don’t real couples argue?”

“Who the fuck cares what other couples do?! Besides, Anna’s just a lovely person; how can you argue with her? I’ve never managed to, and I get in foul, want-to-fight-everyone moods. That woman’s magic.”

“She is. It’s just a big commitment.”

“Pssht. You can always get a divorce.”

It took Ben several moments to realize she was joking.

“People in my family don’t get divorced,” he said.

“Catholic?” Morgan guessed.

“Fiscally conservative,” was the response. “We don’t do things for silly reasons like zealous belief in an imaginary friend; our decisions are made based on money, that most powerful of all the gods.”

Morgan chuckled. “You are occasionally funny, Wellesley.”

After several sips of coffee, he asked her: “Is that why you weren’t interested in me, the night we first met? I wasn’t funny enough?”

“I can tell you get turned down a lot,” Morgan joked.

“I’ve just always wondered.”

“Really? Strange thing to ponder when you’re fucking my friend.” He just looked at her. “Okay, fine. If you’re going to be such a girl about it, I’ll satiate your curiosity.”

“Sexist. I think I’m behaving more feline than feminine.”

Morgan graced that with a smile. Then shrugged. “I just wasn’t open to meeting anyone that night. Anna had recently had her heart broken, and my sole purpose in being at that bar was to be there for my friend.”

“So if I had met you pretty much any other night, you would not have shut me down?”

“I likely would have done the exact opposite. I mean, look at you! With those dark blue eyes that don’t occur very often in nature, I think most girls would be interested.” After a beat of uncomfortable silence, she said, “But thank god I did shut you down! Because now you’re with Anna, and about to propose. Just imagine if you had gone home with me; I’m a disaster!”

He laughed, took a sip of his coffee. “I do think about that, you know. What might be different if I had taken you home, instead. You’re not a mess; though you may be more of a mess than Anna. Most people are.”

“Maybe,” Anna continued, her voice gentle, “find a set of roots who likes, or even loves her.”

How that afternoon coffee had morphed into an afternoon romp was beyond Morgan. She didn’t ordinarily do that sort of thing, given that she was ordinarily working too much during the day to enjoy bedroom activities often when the sun was still out, and she liked her friends and didn’t want to hurt them. “You’re amazing,” he had breathed, when they were done. “How can I marry Anna now?”

“Because Ben doesn’t,” Anna continued. At Morgan’s questioning look, she clarified: “Love you.”

But Anna knew that her friend was wrong. Ben had held her close lovingly, and sparred with her verbally, and stroked her hair lovingly, and bought her the mystery novels she loved to read without being asked. He had told her she was beautiful – and meant it – when she was wearing sweats, her hair thrown up in a ponytail, sans make-up. His loving her, loving both of them, really, was the reason she had continued the illicit affair even when it became clear that Ben was going to marry Anna. He had made the trip with her to Planned Parenthood when, despite their cautiousness, she had become pregnant anyway, and had secretly wanted to keep it but wouldn’t let herself because she thought she deserved the pain and anguish that comes with losing something so precious and she also secretly thought she would be a terrible mother.

Ben did love her. But sometimes, love isn’t enough. Particularly when it is being shared between three people and the wife is tired of sharing.

“Well, I’m still not following your crazy metaphor, Anna. You must be tired; I heard hosting a parasite can do that to you…”

“I appreciate your sympathy,” Anna said dryly.

“… but on a completely unrelated note, I’ve been feeling a little lonely lately. My friend has been all wrapped up in being married and pregnant, and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind putting out some feelers, and letting me know if there are any viable, interested male friends of yours who wouldn’t mind buying me a drink, or at least fucking my brains out?”

“Morgan!” Anna reprimanded, although she was smiling. “I’m a mother now; you can’t talk that way around me anymore!”

“And why not?!” Morgan demanded. “Didn’t we just talk about this, Anna? You can’t let that little one make all of your decisions for you…”

The hazelnut coffee was warm and delicious, and when it was gone, Morgan missed it, but knew it was for the better, She would drink a new cup of hazelnut coffee soon enough, and she might even like her new cup even better. Who knew? It might even give her a Tiffany’s box.

Upcoming Hiatus: See You on the Other Side

My job is crazy busy from January through March each year. It’s expected, it’s slightly awful, and it’s part of the job. So realistically, I likely will not be able to post again until this busy season has ended, at which point, I will aim to post at least once a week. Just wanted to give a quick heads-up.

Please, send me kind thoughts to help me get through the crazy, and thank you for reading!

Probably me, for the upcoming 12 weeks or so…

Potential stress relief. Please consider using these links if you are already planning to purchase the identified items via Amazon, anyway: