Today I have new muffin recipe for your gluten-free repertoire- with apples and pears. And a story. A story not about muffins or fruit or sunlit pastoral memories of picking apples with my grandfather (he wasn't that kind of grandfather). No, no childhood ramblings. A story instead that's more of a snippet. A conversation, actually.
The dating game.
The dating game.
"I wish I knew you in high school," I tell my husband.
This is not news to him. I say it all the time lately, now that I am in my second adolescence, fifteen years past mid-life. I sketch for him study hall humiliations sharing a bottle of red table wine and mixed olives. I search for words to depict how it feels when a snickering jock punches your clutch of books with his fists, sending you to your knees to rescue the sprawl of English homework, algebra and biology books that emit the faint smell of ink and gum.
He hates to hear this.
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