Sometimes life is all baby hugs and sunshine, and then sometimes life is coming home to a broken air conditioner when it’s a million degrees outside, and a fussy kid, and a wife who forgets to tell her husband that she did not yet drain the noodles, and a husband who does not notice that the noodles haven’t been drained and so he adds the already crappy marinara sauce into the pot, thus making the noodles and the sauce both worse and kind of awful, forcing the wife to run to the Circle K for Gordetto’s, peanut M&Ms, and a fountain drink so that the evening only feels 90 percent pathetic and unsatisfying, instead of 100 percent pathetic and unsatisfying. And it’s important to share those moments, too, in addition to the baby hugs and sunshine, so as not to construct a false portrait of one’s life. Oh and also sometimes you realize you still haven’t washed the sheets, even though there’s a tiny bit of dog vomit in that one spot. And then all of a sudden you’re grateful for the sweet gift of denial and compartmentalizing.
Theoretically speaking, of course. I would never sleep in a bed with dog vomit.