Benny and his friend Griffin at Ocean Beach in San Francisco.

Friday, September 16, 2005

A table by the highway, please

Whew! Well, I'm better now and can take good hard look at my life. Hmm, I think I'll go back to bed.

It's shocking when you realize that you're only one to-do list from total ruin. Make it three days and I might as well chuck it all and move to Miami. I could pitch a tent outside the home of Dr. Arthur Agatston, creator of the S.O.B. diet, until I lose 30 pounds or get eaten by a crocodile, whichever comes first. But I hate Florida and I can get Dave Barry's column online, so I guess I'll stay here.

At least I could drive today, to the hair salon, the car wash and finally, to Benny's daycare. I was a little late, and the minute the door chime rang at my entrance, I heard "Mama!" from the kitchen area.

I hustled back there and saw Benny, hat and shoes on, woefully staring out the window. Then he saw me and I swear, it was a moment worthy of a Celine Dion ballad. His lip stuck out and his eyes filled up. "He's been like this since the first parent came," said a teacher as I held my sniffling boy.

To make up for my tardiness, I took Benny to Applebee's, where the waiter cunningly gave us a table with a clear view of Ann Arbor-Saline Road. Benny's eyes goggled at all the rush-hour traffic.

He did eat some garlic toast and miniscule shred of chicken, but mostly he ignored me. At one point, I played "Snake II" on my cell phone while Benny looked out the window ("Car! Truck! Car! Truck! Wow!").

The guy at the next table ordered a Jack-and-Coke. The woman behind us droned on about her urine samples. Ron called to say he had that damn flu now and he'd been home for hours, and where the hell were we? Ah, those precious mother-son moments.

Meanwhile, dishes cover the kitchen, laundry covers the basement, and despair covers the land. But I'm not sad because I'm Well! Well! Well! Yay!


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