I knew something was wrong. Like earth-tiltingly, mind-bendingly wrong when I awoke. Instinctively, my feet shoved the covers off and hit the icy floors running, leaving the rest of my body to catch up. I ran toward the living room and when I arrived the house phone rang. The VCR read 3:12 a.m.
My mother was running too, she made it to the living room with the same frenzied look in her eyes that I imagine I had. Her heart was pounding in perfect, terrified synchronization with mine. …
9:00 am: Arrive at new office building. Smile excitedly at elderly male security guard while passing through the metal detector. Set off metal detector. Remove earrings and shoes. Set off metal detector. Remove belt. Set off metal detector.
Realize it’s the underwire of your bra setting it off. Whisper this to security guard as the line builds behind you. Continue repeating that it is your industrial sized boob support system that is causing you to be a security risk until the guard, the line behind you, and all of the city can finally hear you.
9:30 am: Enter office. Ignore…
5:58 am. I ambled down the frosted walkway from my house and slumped into the car. The half-eaten muffin I’d left on the dash the day before beckoned to me as I flipped my hoodie over my head and pulled the strings tight around my face to keep out the chill. My eyes peered out the small hoodie window.
As I drove off, my vision settled into an unfocused watery gaze and my foggy brain sent the car heading quickly in the wrong direction.
A few minutes passed when I noticed a woman on the side of the road watching…
My son was five months old when we wrapped up a two-week vacation in the sleepy beach town of Edisto, South Carolina sun-kissed and refreshed. We were in the throes of new parenthood and the salty air and sultry nights had been restorative. But as we arrived to the airport, I couldn’t quite hear the ominous music humming in the background, warning us that new parenthood isn’t supposed to be restorative - It’s supposed to push you to the brink of your sanity so you can grow into the best version of yourself, or whatever. …
“Let’s move.” Two simple words that for a young, childless couple ignites feelings of adventure and intrigue. But when I said them to my husband he looked around our cozy farmhouse, exasperated, and sighed. We had a toddler. We were out of space. “I guess we have to,” he grumbled.
According to the internet, in order to have your house ‘buyer ready’ you have to pretend that human people live there but that those human people do not use any of the facilities. Ever. They just sit around drinking cups of Irish tea by the windowsill smiling like people in…
Christine Krooss
Writer. Editor. Survivor of being married to a comedian. Currently owned by a toddler.
