Weeping at work

This morning our office/operations person asked the boss man if he weeps behind his office door every day a particular colleague works.

I said it must be nice to have a door to weep behind.  I weep wherever I am. 

Later, I was googling places to put Pearl and I asked another of my colleagues what he did when he was a kid.  He said that he went swimming and skateboarding and so on.
Me: No, where’d you go while your mom was at work?
Him: My mom didn’t work.

For some reason, that sentence sent me into a weeping tizzy.  I still have the knot in my throat over it, and even as I type this I have difficulty not weeping again. 

Oh wah.  I think this must be self pity because I want to be a stay-at-home/work-at-home mom.  Or because of my still-returning-to-hormones-as-usual-post-sterilization-surgery menses.

Love,
A

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Jammie Dodgers

I recently read this really hilarious thing about how the English think that Hershey’s Kisses taste like vomit. I mean, imagine really clever, sarcastic, sardonic hate on Hershey’s Kisses, but cooler and smarter sounding because English. Read it Here.

So at the Wegman’s today, in the groovy international section where there are some real confectionary treasures, I picked up a packet (I believe that’s the authentic word) of Jammie Dodgers. I chose these for a couple of reasons. I really dig sandwich cookies lately. I’ve been on a sandwich cookie bender. I ate almost an entire pack of vienna fingers (admittedly not even the best of the vanilla-on-vanilla sandwich cookies) all by myself the other day. I shared a few with the people I live with, but I was stingy. Another reason I chose the Jammie Dodger is because in this terrific movie by Aardman called Flushed Away, the heroine sewer rat (voiced by Kate Winslett) drives this cool boat called The Jammie Dodger.

The packaging is not especially promising. It’s real red and yellow and a little bit overdone. So we bust into these things, and they taste like they’ve been hanging out in some mildewy basement for six years. The “shortbread” cookie is more like loosely packed saw dust. The “raspberry plum jam filling” is the texture of chewing gum and the flavor of cough syrup. When it warms up, it leaches onto your teeth and requires some aggressive tonguing.

My point in writing this blog is that while I don’t altogether disagree that the Hershey’s Kisses taste like vomit, this abomination of a shortbread sandwich cookie ignited in me a faint indignation that the national, waxy, Lazy American treat should be so verbally assailed by a nation that feeds its children mildewed sawdust patties filled with red cough syrup putty. WTF, England!