Mrs. Yoy: Text You Later (if I can remember you)
The clock is loudly ticking on my 30s.
To distract myself from the dirty F word, no the other one, I've been throwing myself into unpacking and settling into our new home.
It's not that I'm sad to say goodbye to my thirties, it's just forty always seemed so old to me.
Why are you rambling about this, you may ask.
This evening, as I rinsed away the mom grime in the shower, my phone alerted me to a new text message.
After my shower, I picked up my phone.
I spent the next five minutes trying to remember meeting Doris. And I just couldn't. Did I forget meeting Doris and distributing my number to her? As a 39.5 year old, am I now old enough to have friends named Doris? Maybe it's the lady from Everybody Loves Raymond? I really just can't recall.
In the end, I decided it was a wrong number and did what any upstanding human would do. I ignored it.
To distract myself from the dirty F word, no the other one, I've been throwing myself into unpacking and settling into our new home.
It's not that I'm sad to say goodbye to my thirties, it's just forty always seemed so old to me.
Why are you rambling about this, you may ask.
This evening, as I rinsed away the mom grime in the shower, my phone alerted me to a new text message.
After my shower, I picked up my phone.
In the end, I decided it was a wrong number and did what any upstanding human would do. I ignored it.
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