Drunk and in Charge of a Blog
Well, not quite drunk, but definitely inebriated. A little. At 4:04 P.M. (the Lost Minute. The File Not Found Minute.). On hard cider. A perfect beverage for a warm day when cleaning one's kitchen.
I have to wander out and retrieve my boyos in a few, but for now, I can cozy up to you for another lost minute. They are over at S.'s house, playing with their friend, A., the tickle-him-til-he-pukes-kid. Luckily, they are within
stumbling walking distance.
I like S. I wish I could be friends with S. I mean, do-stuff-together-friends. But she is from California, and I've found that Californians have this sunny shell that makes Brits look like tell-alls. I can't get in. There are things we have in common. There are things our husbands have in common. It should work. It should. But it...doesn't.
I mean, she's nice. She's sweet like milk chocolate. I'm sweet too. But I'm sweet like ancho pepper dark chocolate that's been tampered with.
And I have to figure out a way to tell her that I'm not sending the boyos on to Greenwood Elementary, the Limo School. Why does this have to be difficult? It's nothing personal. Why does this bother me?
I think I'm losing it.
Does anybody else have a person/people that you'd like to befriend, but just, can't?