Nobody likes a whiner, but there’s something oddly satisfying about sharing a little bit of life’s miseries with others. It’s not about wallowing—it’s about airing out the laundry, shaking out the wrinkles, and maybe finding someone who’ll laugh along with you.
*Not her real name Let’s talk blood. I can’t donate mine, thanks to a stint living in the U.K. Mad cow precautions, they say. Serious stuff, I know, but when my daughters were little, it was always good for a laugh. Their dad—me—would launch into a low moo, then louder and higher moos, until I… Continue reading
Monday, Monday. Can’t trust that day, they warned, when it was really Wednesday I should’ve been watching out for. I remember the moment the plot twist hit: there I was, flat on my back in bed, staring at the ceiling, barely able to move, mumbling bits of prayer like they were going out of style…. Continue reading
It seems a bit silly now, upon retrospect, but I came up with this cunning little strategy to combat aging. Not a full-blown master plan, mind you, but more of a casual hypothesis, the sort of thing you come up with people-watching while eating a sandwich on a park bench. Probably be a bestseller once… Continue reading