The Girl Who Learned To Kneel

The wave of perfume hits me. Hard. This lovely (and when I say lovely, I mean elegant and carefully assembled) elderly woman (and when I say elderly, I don’t mean a woman of 63, as per the radio’s offensive suggestion) sits down to drink her latté, paperback in hand. I have to know what she’s reading. I have to know, but somehow staring at her book feels like an invasion of her moment.

I might have to settle for an imaginary cuddle. She’s so lovely.

I’m full of doubt this morning. I wrote a personal essay for this parenting magazine, which was refused.

I love you editor who rejected my heartfelt and very witty birthing story.

This woman to my left sorting papers and making scores of lists. More and more sorting. Then crumpling. And then more sorting. And then more lists. She sees my muffin. “Those are good muffins,” she exclaims. “Yes, they are good muffins,” I say through clenched teeth. Now please bugger off. That part I don’t say, but I think it real hard.

But that is not loving humanity, now is it. She is special and I should love her. Not because she’s special. Just because she’s human.

Okay, I just gave her a hug in my mind. A big huge bear hug. In my mind. I love you special friend who shares my love of muffins.

Except…NO, No, Nooooo!!! I didn’t say you could talk to me.

Blah. I am a terrible lover.

I left my baby crying in Simon’s arms. We are supposed to be teaching her how to sleep, and I think we’re being bad teachers. By the time we’re done with her, she is a sundering, teary mess.

I love you, little Elsie baby.

Guy LaLiberté, the founder of Cirque du Soleil, is apparently so in love with humanity, he throws parties that make his circle of humanity squeal in every respect. My mother, on the other hand, is fasting from criticism and getting more and more silent.

Oh this humanity I am destined to love.

Yesterday, I told Jian Ghomeshi he had retractable balls. Was that loving?

We all have our ways.