Christmas Shovels

It’s perfectly normal to have a violent allergic reaction to the sound of coughing, yes? To feel your sanity slowly dismembered with every raspy bark? To fantasize about intubating your sweet sick daughter who can’t stop coughing any more than she can stop being three, but still… THERE ARE LIMITS TO HUMAN ENDURANCE.

Christmas preparations are in full swing—piles of presents to wrap, photos to edit, a solid ton of cookie dough chilling on the balcony—but every time I think of tackling a project, I run smack-dab into a shovel (name that book/film!). First, I smashed my thumb into smithereens. (It continues to leak interesting substances and sulk in its room listening to emo.) Then, a shelf corner deliberately planted itself in the path of my forehead. Oh yes, I also got mild food poisoning after a delightful lunch with relatives of a well-known Italian actress who is married to a well-known French actor (10 points if you figure out who!). Dan’s been sick, Sophie’s sprouting molars*, and now poor Miss Natalie is home sick. COUGHING. This holiday is seriously doomed.

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* About that, teething bites. Hehe.