Coffee Is far Too Much Work

I shamed myself into going out for coffee. Well technically, my daughter did.
“Mom, you haven’t showered for like, 2 weeks. What’s wrong with you,” she asked condescendingly. I groaned and ran my hands through my oily roots. My fingers came away slippery and shiny. Pizza boxes and anything else that could cater were all over the living room floor.
And where was the loving husband, who should have told me he loved me, dirty or no?
Gone. ‘Extended business trip, not meeting deadline. Sorry.’
Business trip my left foot.
So I got in the shower. And even though I had been dreading the prospect of real effort for 2 weeks, words cannot describe how good I felt when I was clean.
I put on make-up, curled my hair. I had no clue why I was doing this-but being clean felt so good I wanted to feel pretty too, I guess.
The little coffee shop was warm, bright and cheery-everything my marriage was not, my sardonic side pointed out.
I inwardly groaned. Hadn’t 2 weeks of sarcasm been enough for my sardonic side?
Apparently not.

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