I just spent a good ten minutes walking back and forth across the apartment, into the bedroom, the bathroom, the kitchen, and my office about three times each, looking for my sunglasses. When I was on the brink of tears because there was nowhere I hadn’t fucking looked, meaning my expensive prescription sunglasses were gone forever–and, more immediately, it would be no fun to go take a walk in the bright daylight–it occurred to me to check my head. Literally. And there they were, perched atop it like a headband, which is where they live about 75% of the time. (That in itself could be another entry in the Becoming My Mother Watch.)
If this is what it’s like at 33, I don’t even want to know how it’s gonna be in another 20 years.