I'm a writer.
I write things.
But only for an hour a day because I'm also a stay-at-home mom.
To a toddler.
Gmail me at ccr002
Clicky-click below to go to my Etsy shop!
“If I fail the bar, I will have wasted my life,” he says. “I’ll be 30 in a couple of years. That’s my whole life right there.”
I struggle to keep from rolling my eyes. But then I roll them anyway. What does it matter? I’m eavesdropping. The rules of etiquette don’t apply.
I want to turn to him and say, “Get a grip! Life is hard and so is the bar. But honey, you’re not even 30. You’re a baby!”
But I’m eavesdropping. I can only watch. Like God or Santa Claus.
“People want lawyers who have been through adversity.” His father tells him. I cover my face with my napkin to hide a “what the fuck” face.
Adversity? Give me a fucking break.
I signal for the bill. The food is good here, and it’s expensive. I would like very much to keep it down.
Perspective, man. Next time I get the urge to bitch about a crying baby, I tell myself to remember this moment. This right here. When I sat eating a pastrami sandwich and listening to some kid bitching about his promising future. When I spent an hour eavesdropping. Like some kind of woman taking a break from her “problems”.