Look at the life picture I've painted in 2017 and you'll see me
falling in love, traveling across the globe and playing with lots of puppies.
There were many bright spots, but I'd like to go on record along with the rest of
America and say that overall this year was pretty much a little bitch. (Sorry
mom.) Plus I've had to endure most of 2017 with only nine toenails. And if that
isn't a metaphor for life, I don't know what is.
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| Social media me, sending chill vibes in 2017. |
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| The real me, telling 2017 to lay off. |
"You seem oddly... calm," my best friend, Suzie, says as
she sits next to me less than two weeks after my latest breakup. As I prattle on and on
about the man of the minute I found on some dating app, she remains skeptical.
But obviously, I'M FINE. I mean, look at the evidence: I'm going on dates!
Booking flights right and left! Taking up new hobbies! Unstoppable, I tell you!
A few days later, the simple task of reheating a piece of pizza confirms that I am not, in fact, fine. Apparently the sure-fire indicator I'm experiencing life trauma is to gauge my behavior in the kitchen. (cc: The Great Chocolate Chip Cookie Meltdown of 2013.)
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| "Place directly on oven rack OR ON PIZZA STONE." Danger ahead. |
I cleverly decide to use a pizza stone for this task because A)
I'm a new woman post-breakup who makes even dull tasks exciting, B) The
reheating instructions told me to, and C) I had a pizza stone when I moved into
my apartment two years ago and wonder if it still exists. Answer: it does! And
in its original packaging no less! This becomes a problem when I lift the
disintegrating box to about chest height and the pizza stone falls out the
bottom, plummeting to the ground... by way of my toe.
