My mother is a retired kindergarten teacher. She has spent thirty years explaining to small children why you shouldn’t lick windows. Her patience is legendary. But I could see the twitch in her left eye.
We sat in silence for a moment. The clock ticked. mother's bad date
His name was Gary. Gary sold ergonomic office chairs. He showed up fifteen minutes late with a carnation so wilted it looked like it had already been apologized to. My mother, ever the optimist, tucked it into her hair anyway. She wore her good earrings—the silver ones shaped like crescent moons. My mother is a retired kindergarten teacher
“Deal,” I said. “But only if you let me order the avocado.” ever the optimist