I get why we bailed on white girls wearing cornrows, but why did we ever abandon this style?
It’s much more flattering than having the elastic cut across the mushiest part of your hip. My legs looked super long.
I could get used to this.
When the beach party rolled around, I wore my new one-piece with cutoff shorts and a gauzy white button-down. I felt good. Even sexy.
I was so emboldened, I ate breakfast.
So I get to the party and what’s the first thing I see? Another guest wearing almost an identical black, lace-up, one-piece.
Was I mad?
Not in the slightest.
Women’s empowerment doesn’t exist without sisterhood.
World Police
Lisa
I’m exhausted from my relaxation.
Let me explain.
We begin with the fact that I’m on deadline, which means that I’m counting minutes.
Literally.
When I’m on deadline, I don’t do anything social, and the only time I take off from work is to exercise, because I think it’s good to keep blood flow to my brain so I can write better.
You get the idea.
I’m crazy.
Everything I do has to be justified as benefiting work, or I’m not allowed to do it. I’m not complaining. I really love writing and I’ve learned, in twenty-five years as a professional writer, that I have to protect my time.
But I also have to protect my sanity.
Hence, blood flow to my brain.
Which is how I came to decide the other day, after a day of writing, that it would be okay to go for a quick bike ride, then return to work that night.
In other words, I scheduled my relaxation.
It struck me as funny, considering the way I was raised. The Flying Scottolines did not schedule anything, especially not their relaxation. Both of my parents worked, and after dinner, they relaxed.
Which meant they sat in front of the television and smoked.
Then my father quit smoking, so he relaxed in front of the television and played postal chess.
Mother Mary just drove us postal.
With love.
Bottom line, when they were relaxing, they did nothing.
When I’m relaxing, I do everything.
Anyway, so my first outing on my bicycle, I’m riding from the parking lot when I see a dog jumping around frantically in a locked SUV. Part of me wants to ride by, because I’m on the relaxation schedule and I can’t afford the time it would take to investigate, but then again, I love dogs and I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to the dog, so I rode to the car to see that the dog was panting and barking, worked up. And by the way, when I’d left my car, the temperature read 102 degrees inside.
You guys are smart enough to know that it can be 30° hotter in the car than outside, which is why I love you.
Unfortunately, not everyone is as smart as you.
So I went into the store and asked them to make an emergency announcement, but they refused, though that would have been best for the dog’s health and the author’s scheduled relaxation.
But I still couldn’t turn my back on the dog, so I called 911. I waited twenty minutes, but the dog’s owner arrived before the police did, so I yelled at her without the use of profanity and asked her to stop trying to kill her dog.
Then I was on my way, almost an hour late and totally cranky, which must have interfered with the blood flow to my brain because I didn’t write very well when I got home.
I figured my next scheduled relaxation would be more relaxing.
But the next day, I was about to get out of my car and get on my bike when I noticed another dog being left in another car. I also noticed that the couple leaving their dog in the car hadn’t gone into the store yet, so I hurried after them and told them that it wasn’t safe to leave the dog in the car.
They told me they would “be just a few minutes” and “she’ll be fine.”
I told them that I beg to differ, it was dangerous to the dog and it was illegal.
They told me to mind my own business and it wasn’t illegal.
I may have said something like, “Oh, yeah? We’ll see about that!”
Again without the use of profanity.
So I called 911, though I wondered if the police would remember that I was the same lady who had called them yesterday about a different dog in a different car.
Either way, I could feel my blood rushing to my brain, and I realized that my relaxation was stressing me out.
If I were an animal-control officer, this would be my job and I could kill two birds with one stone.
But as it stands, my job requires people not to leave dogs in cars in the tristate area.
So I end this story with a plea.
To dogs.
Dogs, please do not let your completely idiotic owners, who are obviously not as smart as you, leave you in the car in the summertime.
Even with the windows “cracked.”
Even for “just a few minutes.”
I’m begging you, dogs.
The police have better things to do.
And I’m on deadline.
Good Morning!
Lisa
Guess who’s coming over this week?
The USA.
Okay, I’m exaggerating.
But only a little.
Let me explain.
I found out that Francesca and I were scheduled to be on Good Morning America, which is very big news. We were booked to talk about our funny series, as well as my thrillers and novels. We were superexcited because the show has a bazillion viewers, and obviously, this would expose our books to a national audience.
But on the downside, it exposes me to a national audience.
And I can’t be my usual slobby self.
Loyal readers know that I have recently gained weight, live in teddy-bear clothes, and let my roots go until they’re incarceration-length.
Also, I have been known to pluck my chin in the car, at a stoplight.
Oh, you didn’t know that?
Well, that secret has yet to be told.
Spoiler alert.
In my defense, the light is better in the car and the mirror is close enough that I can see it without my reading glasses.
Also in my defense, I saw a woman beside me doing the same thing the other day, as her husband drove.
Maybe that’s why I need a husband.
To cart me around while I pluck in public.
Anyway, as soon as we got booked on Good Morning America, I started exercising to lose weight.
They say the camera adds ten pounds, but I disagree.
Carbohydrates add ten pounds.
I never ate a camera.
But if you bake it in a chocolate cake, stand clear.
I also scheduled an appointment to lighten my hair.
And my teeth.
I’m pretty sure Hemingway did that, too.
Okay, so far, so good.
But then the most amazing/terrifying thing happened.
Good Morning America called to say that they had changed their mind and they weren’t going to have us to NYC for the show.
They said, instead …
Wait for it …
That they were going to come to the house and film us for the show at home.
Whaaaaatttt?
Of course this was the most amazing news ever, and it will be even better than in the studio, because it will include all the dogs, and you know how they are.
When they see a camera, they come running.
Not when we call them, however.
But what that means is not only do I have to get myself camera-ready, I have to get my entire house camera-ready.
Yikes.