This one’s going to be short, because I have about as much energy as the unidentifiable biomass my children find under the couch. [File it under “mammal” maybe? Given the hairs?]
I have made so many how-to-save-your-own-life lists that they tangle and smudge inside my purse, which my husband calls my “trash bag,” eventually becoming felt dust like all the receipts I will absolutely never find.
Here’s a sampling of the menu: