Little girls, tears, and ballet

Name three things that, in combination, I am unprepared to deal with. Pretty much everything I’ve done or said in the past few hours has brought tears. It’s like pushing the button on a soda machine, expecting Coke, and out pops a Fresca — how the fuck could pushing that button have possibly delivered a Fresca? Who even knew there still was Fresca. Well, same with little girls. What should have been a simple discussion about the future of bicycling among the sub-teen members of our household went to tears at the very start of the conversation. Those tears have continued for the past half hour, ostensibly from stress over the upcoming ballet academy auditions. The fact that I can’t stand tears over nothing is my problem, not theirs, and I understand that, but understanding it doesn’t change it. I’m pissed at myself that I’m not having a great day with them and that I’m not more patient, and being pissed makes me less patient.

But really, no one could have expected a Fresca….

— Mr. Johnson enjoys a nice beverage. There isn’t a man, woman or child alive who doesn’t enjoy a nice beverage.