(Photo by Sirisvisual on Unsplash)
Are we worthy because we’re famous? Rich and successful? Do we feel special because we’re good-looking or well dressed? On days we’ve “contributed,” do we sleep better?
And when we come across someone else, how do we determine their worth?Continue reading“Are we worthy?”
Let me tell you a story. A story of two men and a little dog.
The front yard fence had been replaced by a newer, sturdier design. Long, horizontal slats of wood had been nailed to posts after careful measurements. But Minnie’s dad was still worried. From her past misadventures, he was sure she’d squeeze between the fence’s pickets and hightail it to the McDonald’s nearby. He wanted to be certain it was corgi-proof. The Handyman — who’d been extra thorough in his estimations — assured him it was. But Dad wasn’t convinced. So he set up a test.Continue reading“Two men and a dog.”
When I was 5 years old, my Amma read me this magical story. It was from an expensive book with big, chunky pages — part of a larger collection of fairy tales. I remember snuggling in bed on warm summer nights and asking for the same book over and over again. The story of Cinderella and her evil stepsisters. Amma read in her lilting voice, and my eyes would grow wider as she approached my favorite part. “Then the fairy godmother waved her wand and poof! A pair of slippers appeared on Cinderella’s feet. Beautiful, dainty glass slippers,” she’d finish with a flourish. I always made her go back and read that line, after which I would sigh with pleasure and let the story lull me to sleep.Continue reading“Warm, fluffy moccasins.”
August is a busy month at casa de Pavi. We have an anniversary, half a dozen birthdays, and the official start of school. I turn 39 on the 5th, which I’m thinking big deal, except it also feels like a bit of a damp squib. Continue reading“39”
So I chanced upon a little creative writing activity the other day. I’d been trawling Reddit for inspiration, and I found this nifty exercise hidden in the comments. The whole thing has apparently been designed to shake you out of your funk, and while I couldn’t make sense of the exact logic, a hundred thousand Redditors swore by it.
“You’re sure the return policy is 30 days?”
The lady behind the counter nods at me.
“And I just need to get the item and the receipt?”Continue reading“Lisps, tics and other quirks.”
I put down the eyeliner and studied my reflection in the mirror. Too much mascara? Grandma always told me I had the prettiest eyes. Smiling, I pulled my hair into a loose braid. Now, where was my lucky pebble? Oh there. Good. Now I was ready.
Continue reading“I was entirely indifferent to the news of his death.”
I usually choke twice or thrice a year. Not figuratively, but an honest to God “clawing at my neck with the whites of my eyes showing,” choking. And while I know I’m often hyperbolic, this is not one of those times.Continue reading“Gak!”
(Photo by Natalie Grainger on Unsplash)
It’s pretty apparent I have been letting myself go for a while. I’m not very tall — 5’5” if I don’t slouch — so the extra weight shows. Folds exist where there were none before. I make this ungainly “unff” sound after climbing a flight of stairs. And my knees. Oh, my knees are writing angry letters to the editor.Continue reading“The one thing I can do.”
(Photo by Kevin Lehtla on Unsplash)
Lately, I’ve noticed myself changing and not for the better. I’m crabby even after my caffeine fix, and I frequently catch myself loud-sighing when things don’t go my way. Life’s minor annoyances irk me to no end — looking at you, Mr. Lexus, who thinks it is acceptable to go 50 mph on the express lane, despite my polite honking. I’m not even 40 yet, which means menopause is years away, so that can’t be an excuse. But a tiny throbby vein is setting up permanent residence on my temple, and try as I might, I can’t douse the prickly fire burning in my lower belly. If I was at one of those meetings, where everyone says a few words about themselves, I would go, “Hi, I’m Pavi, and I hate most things, including meetings like this one. Also, stop staring at me, Brenda. What, you’ve never seen a woman show up to work in yoga pants? Sheesh.” Continue reading“Off my lawn, you whippersnappers!”
