Little Engines

All of my problems were real problems. But some of my problems were only in my head. I went to see a dentist. Sexy Dr. Swenson on Josey Lane. It had been eleven years since I'd been to the dentist. Except, of course, it had been thirteen. “According to our records you've missed your last twenty-seven appointments.“ "Yah," I said. "Something came up." While sexy Dr. Swenson went to work with her drill, I watched home renovation shows on HGTV. Sarah and Todd were on a tight budget but a breakfast nook was non-negotiable. They would have to sacrifice their ten-minute commute. At the end of the day, these shows are all about compromise.

My parents die, but they keep it a secret from me. My husband leaves the room after his phone buzzes. My aunt and uncle send me evasive emails instead of returning my calls. Three days later, still no word from Mom and Dad. “Just tell me!” I yell at my husband across the dinner table. He rises, dishes in hand, and rinses them in silence.

Rejoice with me, I have beaten depression. There’s this trick I have of remembering that my mother used to carry gems in her pocket as a teenager. No thieves suspected! This is more biography. She and her friend were making deliveries on Jeweler’s Row! Despite her early training, my mother did not become a gemologist, instead a lab tech and occasional phlebotomist. Some of her friends call her Blondie.s

One night at dinner, a woman revealed to her husband that she had a fatal strawberry allergy. “That can’t be!” the husband said. “We’ve been married for years and this is the first I’m hearing of it!” “It’s true,” the wife said. “I know it.” The husband stared at her with his mouth hanging open, replaying in his head the countless times she had unknowingly ingested strawberries in the past and survived without even a rash.