Apparently Eileen got the short straw when they assigned musical instruments at school. She named her bass Jazzy. Because Jazzy is the same size as a coffin, I can’t carpool with anyone. So, I haul Jazzy to and fro the middle school for orchestra, battling punks twice my size texting their brains out while I am trying to enter the door. Often I made snotty comments like, “EXCUSE ME, giant turtle coming through. Can’t you see me?” that mortify my daughter.

Hot cross buns, anyone?


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