This morning Scarlett and I were sitting at the dining room table where she was eating a typical breakfast of spaghetti and meatballs and I was drinking a cup of tea.
“I didn’t blog yesterday,” I told her, as if admitting something scandalous.
She seemed unperturbed, busy aiming an entire handful of grated parmesan cheese directly into her mouth.
“Please stop doing that,” I said, and then had a flashback to my own childhood and visits to see my Aunt Theresa and Uncle John. Theresa was my grandmother’s sister and everything about her and Uncle John seemed very old and very Italian. Their couch was covered in plastic. The fruit on their coffee table was wax. When we arrived in the morning, they were always eating cold spaghetti, and Uncle John would pinch our cheeks so hard they stayed pink for the remainder of the visit.
Scarlett continued eating her spaghetti, oblivious to my distraction.
“What do you think I should blog about?” I asked her.
“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “You could definitely blog about Otto throwing up and how Jack almost dropped my tooth fairy in the throw up.” Read More>