Motherhood: A Chronic Condition Unless Young Are Eatenpublished by Fran Shea
On the back of the Atari 2600 there was a difficulty switch. “A” was normal but “B” made dragons move impossibly fast
and shrunk trampolines.
Flipping the switch meant a game had been mastered. Mastered.
Those were simpler times.
I opened the door to the shop last night and was greeted by an avalanche of bicycles. Two of them had no kickstands and were tangled with the lawn mower. I would have moved the mower and bikes easily but I was blocked by a giant roll of bubble-wrap.
I wonder if the interns that emailed looking for work have any idea my days contain such physical obstacles.
I almost forgot why I even went into the shop… It wasn’t to get bruises and swear – was it? No! I needed to lay out some new Mother’s Day cards!
I had to set my type by candlelight because the lightbulb burned out over the big cabinet and I couldn’t replace it without using the ladder that was wedged between the weed-wacker and the card-carousel.