He says his name is Nigel. It’s like I have a homing device for British men. I’m squirming, but he’s too drunk to notice. He has a martini in one hand, a stain on the shirt under his suit jacket, and I’m looking at chandeliers, padded lounges, and girls resembling porn stars. Anything so I... Continue Reading →
Airports. They’re all well and good and exciting until you’ve got a four hour delay ahead of you. Stuck elbows deep in poorly made frappacinos and rumpled US Weekly’s… I am waiting for the plane to touch down. I’m on the phone, arguing with the latest entry in a long line of mistakes. My fingers... Continue Reading →
Every mother has one story about each child that, over and over, they still love to tell. In this one, I am standing in the grocery store, maybe four years old - up to her knees or so - and I tug on her jeans. “Mommy! Mom! Moooooom!” I say, eyes full and round. She... Continue Reading →
ifoundyouinthedark 