January 19, 2013 § 4 Comments
At least she’d dented the car door in the same place as last time.
At least the stain was in the back.
At least he hadn’t tattooed her name anywhere that showed when fully dressed.
At least the dog did it on the linoleum.
No way she was getting through this dry-eyed; at least she’d packed plenty of Kleenex.
At least he put the seat down.
At least she still had good legs.
At least the GPS got her back out of the bad neighborhood it got her into.
Two weeks past its pull date, at least the milk hadn’t curdled her coffee.
At least the back end was wagging.
Yes, she wanted fries with that–at least she hadn’t super-sized it.
At least the Mayans got the date wrong.
At least she’d outlived Martha.
At least he didn’t comb his hair over that bald spot. At least he still had his teeth.
At least they still called her on the holidays.
Note: I began writing this looking for the small, often Pyrrhic victories particular to women, but I quickly began hearing an individual voice, that of a disappointed older woman; tough, stubborn and, although she’d be the last to admit it, sad.
Does anyone else hear the insistent voices of vivid but imaginary people? Do any of you find yourselves walking off the path of your own life and into the weeds of someone else’s?
If this list were mine it would begin: At least this will make a good story.