May 19
I have a confession to make. I'm a hairy person. This dreadful situation was particularly upsetting for me as a junior high school girl. Because I was (and still am) white as a sheet, hair really stood out on me, especially my natural chocolate brown color back then. Paper white legs plus inch-long blackish hairs equalled SCARY BOY REPELLANT.
I don't wander as much as I used to.
Our new 'hood is not urban. Some of the streets don't even have sidewalks. I am forced to potter next to speeding cars on a four-lane highway to get anywhere.
Unpleasant. Dangerous, perhaps.
In honor of Mother's Day, an encore homage to the woman who birthed the love of my life and nurtured him into the man he has become. She is also known as my Mother-in-Law, the Butcher of Milwaukee.
And, she is going to kill me for telling this MTM-inspired story.
I am not a Rotarian, officially, so I can't possibly be accused of broadcasting an electronic Rotary Kool-Aid acid test. But I am lucky enough to be married to a committed and enthusiastic Rotarian
MTM is evil. He feeds my desire to throw money away travel by sending me subscriptions. Like my weekly New York Magazine.
Back in the day when flights were actually affordable, we went to New York City at least once a quarter. We could hop a flight at o'dark-thirty on a Saturday morning and be back home by Sunday night. Cheap flight. One night in a hotel. Two full days immersed in culture and food and noise and tall buildings.
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