After spending Valentine's Day alone -- curled up on the couch in the fetal position downing pints of ice cream in between fits of sobbing -- the single 30-something (daughter of a) friend sought my opinion: She is considering freezing her eggs, postponing motherhood until a time down the road when she is married, she said. She asked me, 'Does that make sense?'
About four or five times a day, my home phone rings with people who say I've done business with them before (I haven't) or who say that I asked them to call (I didn't). Increasingly, it is angry-voiced men claiming to be from the IRS or some division of the government who say I owe them money (I don't).
With the precision of a Rockettes' dance number, one by one the windows in my house have all snapped the little doohickey that lets them slide up and down smoothly and keeps them from going off-tilt. If I were a window repairman, I'm sure there would be a real name for the broken part and with that real name, a real expensive price tag and a real expensive labor call.
Black Thursday is more commonly known as Thanksgiving, a day when families -- dysfunctional and otherwise -- gather to over-eat and give gratitude that they are able to. While the day after Thanksgiving has long been the traditional kickoff of the holiday shopping season, the starting bell has been ringing earlier and earlier each year.
I am about to turn 65 and am eligible for Medicare. But it appears that things between me and Mr. M are already off to a rocky start. Frankly, I think he's a lying cheating bastard who promises to love and care for you like nobody's business but then -- at least from what I keep hearing from friends who have already spent time in his company -- it turns out he's all talk and no action.