Waiting for the receptionist to call, I counted my fingers. It had been eleven months since I’d been to the dentist thanks to COVID-19. I scraped a fingernail across my front tooth and thought, “The hygienist has her work cut out for her today.”
Waiting for the receptionist to call, I counted my fingers. It had been eleven months since I’d been to the dentist thanks to COVID-19. I scraped a fingernail across my front tooth and thought, “The hygienist has her work cut out for her today.”
“You empty a bag of Utz’s Dark Russet potato chips onto a cookie sheet…” I began. “Then you sprinkle crumbled gorgonzola cheese over …”
“Rusty potato chips?” my mother asked, turning her good ear toward me.
I’ve always wanted to say, teeth clenched with haughty intonation, “We were on the Vineyard yesterday,” as if it was my regular routine now that we live in New England. So, last weekend, the unofficial end of summer, my husband, Francis, and I took a day trip to Martha’s Vineyard, the preppy vacation spot for the rich and famous…
What I believe about Hell and hand baskets