i spy.

 

         an old man in a track suit, doing chin ups on a tree.

         a four hundred pound man with a tiny dog peeking out of his jacket.

         a woman with Tammy Faye Baker eyes, whose drawn-on eyebrows are the same fire-engine red as her lips.

it’s not me, it’s you.

 

During a conversation about relationships:

                  

‘Are there any deal-breakers for you?’

‘I could never date a smoker.’

‘What about if someone grew a mullet while you were dating?’

‘Well, I’ve never had to navigate something like that because I’ve never been with anyone long enough for them to grow a mullet.’

 

 

My gut is telling me that I would be out the door faster than you could say ‘business in the front and a party in the back.’

 

 

grace in small things. 6 of 365

       

  1. not having to pay library fines even though your books were a day late.
  2. the smell of lilacs that catches you while you walk down the street.
  3. cuddling with someone on the couch while the sun pours through the windows.
  4. getting homemade soup from a friend when you are feeling sick.
  5. friends who check up on you to make sure you aren’t dead, because when they left you four hours ago you weren’t looking so good.