Martha Stewart’s Got Nothing on These Good Things
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the husband who makes me coffee just how I like it, wussy-like with lots of milk and sugar with minimal, yet unavoidable, teasing of how I bastardize my drinks
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being sniffed behind the ear by the husband
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parents who call me randomly to tell me I’m pretty
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not being pregnant but knowing one day I want to be
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meeting my professor’s two year old son who introduces himself by announcing “I’m a little bashful” and then waits for people to affirm his shyness
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friends who dress their two year old daughter as Che Guevara for Halloween, complete with a toy semi-automatic machine gun, drawn on mustache, and no apologies
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cat tummies that smell warm and fuzzy…yes, that’s synaesthesia for you literary types
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having crushes on super-intelligent and funny people, and fantasizing about witty conversations we’d have together
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music, plain and simple
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autumn, plain and simple
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procrastinating by writing absolute cheese
