Note to world #5493

It seemed she had reached a point in life where being served steaming cups of strong coffee featured prominently in all of her sexual fantasies.

And she really wasn’t interested in what her therapist thought about it.

oranges, lemons

When my children were young, I started singing to them at bedtime.  Mostly because I couldn’t stay awake long enough for any decent bedtime story, and they were catching on to my fatigue, poking me and letting me know that I was mispronouncing the words to every story in my blurry awake/sleep state.  Singing required that I be more on my toes.

Of course, I was (am) not a great singer – so I had given all the songs my own sort of melody, one that fit better with my very limited vocal range and skills.  Sometimes I also made up parts of verses to compensate for my terrible memory, or spent time on the internet learning all the lines again.  And I sang almost everything at my own slow pace because I wanted the whole thing – the words, the sounds, the rhythm – to lull them to sleep.  The sooner, the better – and hopefully before I fell asleep too.

I had almost forgotten about all of that.  But last week, through a fuzzy haze of jet lag and short-sightedness, I realized that the label on the hotel’s shampoo was the first line of a song I sang to my children once upon a time.  I sent them both a photo of the label and asked, “Does anyone remember this?” to which one daughter wrote back with the next line of the song (or possibly the line I made up to be the next part of the song) – and the other daughter wrote, “Yes! I remember that too!”

Note to world #6649

Thank god for social media.

It reminds me every day that I’m not really as strange as I worry I might be.

In fact, I am downright plainly normal compared to the world wide web and that is a pretty

a w e s o m e

revelation for me.

Note to world #8843

The bartender offered her a special drink to sip while she sat and watched the hurricane swirl magnificently across the screen above the bar.

He had invented it himself, he said – called it the Mandatory Evacuation.

She turned it down because (a) she was annoyed by the interruption and (b) it sounded more like a heavy laxative than a fun cocktail.

She just wanted her usual vodka tonic and silence tonight.

Note to world #3352

It was my favorite sort of irony, really – so how could I even be hurt or angry?

My youngest child made an irritated and impatient note about the fact that I had purchased shampoo and conditioner that had no bearing on who my actual daughter was.

“Mom, this is for people with curly hair, and it just makes my hair weird.”

I had been so enraptured by the hot pink color of the bottles and the fancy font that screamed ‘mango butter and lemon’ that I hadn’t noticed the ‘curly’ part.

I had been so proud of finding a new trendy shampoo in millennial pink that I couldn’t see ‘curly’ on the label.

I apologized. My daughter, super charged on teen annoyance and otherwise quite confident that I hadn’t been paying attention to the details for a while now, said: “Don’t worry. I’ll order my own from Amazon.”

And oh, she did. Yes —-

She ordered something called “NOT YOUR MOTHER’S shampoo”…. and as a woman who bought a shampoo named VERB because I love words and not because I knew anything about the product … I just couldn’t help but wonder about the message being conveyed.

[With delight, I admit. With delight.]