Looking back, my mid-life crisis began on a Tuesday in March, right there on aisle twelve of the local supermarket between the laxatives and the condoms. That’s the day I confronted an assortment of tampon boxes and wondered if my diminishing egg production warranted the forty-eight count economy size. See, I worried about a future when the half-empty box, now faded and kinda tattered around the edges, still sat beneath the sink ready to mock me every time I reached for a hair dryer or fresh roll of TP.
“Can I help you find something, ma’am?”
“Yeah, could you put out an APB on my youth?” A rhetorical question, but when the kid gasped and made a move as though to summon the men in white suits, I dredged up a reassuring smile. “Just kidding,” I lied, vaguely trying to pinpoint the moment in life when I’d gone from miss to ma’am.
This is from my current WIP--the one mysteriously titled JATAOMM for now. I've written about 70 pages and read it through just the other night. Looks like that month-long stall I've been in is nearly over (go, ME!).
Meanwhile, be sure to look for tomorrow's post. I'm working on a marathon entry about last week's doings (astute blogreaders--well, plus friends and relatives--you guys know what I'm talkin' about.)
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