Having a panic attack at the Paris Ballet and getting asked if they need to fetch the doctor but oh! No, I’ll manage. Running down the grand staircase, billowing skirt. Getting stares, stifling sobs. Misery!
My toaster is having a bad week so she doesn’t have the energy to hold the lever down anymore. Which means I have to stand there pressing it down for three minutes making sure my toast doesn’t burn. I used to take that time for granted, now it’s being robbed of me by my broken toaster. Trying to give her grace.
