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.