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Advice to Spare
Main Ingredients:
aunt
secretary
vanilla
condensed milk
bowling alley
Spice Pack:
1 dash of neglect
1/4 teaspoon of frivolity
Strike!
"Woohoo- I'm on a roll!" said my aunt.
"You go there, auntie," I said, as I picked up my ball.
There was nothing like being with my aunt, playing hookie, skipping out on that lousy job, being a secretary.
Not even a secretary, an intern
at the condensed milk plant. My goodness. So much better to be out in the lane.
"Aw, dang it," a 3-7 split.
"That's okay, you'll get it next time."
That's how things were with Auntie B. You threw balls and took what came. And that had been my life lately. One lousy bro after another. The frat guy. The Otaku. The super ambitious entrepreneur bro. Each another ball down the lane
without any bumpers.
"What's wrong, girl?" my aunt asked as I plopped down in the chair.
"I'm going to end up a spinster."
"Ah, what?! What's this, the 1940s? No, the 1920s."
"Aw, Auntie, you know what I mean. I'm so sick of guys these day."
"Well, isn't that why they invited Tindr or Grindr or Uber?"
"Auntie!"
"Just kidding! Look," she said, touching my arm again revealing a bit of that sleeve of colorful swirls, magical cats, and bodacious science babes that represented the women she'd worked with at Nasa all those years -- "there's lots of stars up in the sky."
"Yeah, and lots of black holes."
"What do you want? a life of vanilla?"
"I don't know," I sighed. "I guess I just want something more."
"You know what you need to take care of first?" My aunt asked.
And of course I knew. She meant me. Self-care, sleep, exercise, spa - these were like a mantra for my aunt. So I said it, "myself?"
No, laughed my aunt. "Those pins. You gotta clean up that 3-7 split."
aunt
secretary
vanilla
condensed milk
bowling alley
Spice Pack:
1 dash of neglect
1/4 teaspoon of frivolity
Strike!
"Woohoo- I'm on a roll!" said my aunt.
"You go there, auntie," I said, as I picked up my ball.
There was nothing like being with my aunt, playing hookie, skipping out on that lousy job, being a secretary.
Not even a secretary, an intern
at the condensed milk plant. My goodness. So much better to be out in the lane.
"Aw, dang it," a 3-7 split.
"That's okay, you'll get it next time."
That's how things were with Auntie B. You threw balls and took what came. And that had been my life lately. One lousy bro after another. The frat guy. The Otaku. The super ambitious entrepreneur bro. Each another ball down the lane
without any bumpers.
"What's wrong, girl?" my aunt asked as I plopped down in the chair.
"I'm going to end up a spinster."
"Ah, what?! What's this, the 1940s? No, the 1920s."
"Aw, Auntie, you know what I mean. I'm so sick of guys these day."
"Well, isn't that why they invited Tindr or Grindr or Uber?"
"Auntie!"
"Just kidding! Look," she said, touching my arm again revealing a bit of that sleeve of colorful swirls, magical cats, and bodacious science babes that represented the women she'd worked with at Nasa all those years -- "there's lots of stars up in the sky."
"Yeah, and lots of black holes."
"What do you want? a life of vanilla?"
"I don't know," I sighed. "I guess I just want something more."
"You know what you need to take care of first?" My aunt asked.
And of course I knew. She meant me. Self-care, sleep, exercise, spa - these were like a mantra for my aunt. So I said it, "myself?"
No, laughed my aunt. "Those pins. You gotta clean up that 3-7 split."