Dear random mom at the park: thanks for not looking at me with crazy eyes as I ran after the older two kids, pushing a stroller in one hand and wolfing down an old half of doughnut I found in the car in the other hand. And then I felt the need to tell you between bites that I was sorry I was eating food in front of you while trying to have a conversation. My social awkwardness is only magnified by raging hunger. I sling food at kids all day and sometimes forget to eat it myself. Thanks for not hovering over the kids and letting my tiny kids play with your bigger kids. They felt important. Thanks for the five minutes of real talk in between my gulps of doughnut. And most of all, thanks for not making me ask what your name is. I wouldn’t remember it anyway. You’re the best and maybe I’ll see you at the park again. And next time I’ll bring a doughnut for you. A fresh one. That hasn’t been licked by a child.
An American humorist, writer and author. When boiling down the chicken soup of life, she finds those golden, fried nuggets of truth & writes them long after the kids go to bed.
