Lately, life has been a crazy comedy of errors.

Chris and I (professional PR people) mis-hear and mis-read each other’s plans.  “I thought you were doing the shopping after you went to the gym and before you returned the library books and dropped off the dry cleaning.”  Headshaking.  “No, you had the list and were going to add the other list Hugh started, the one where he snuck Pop-Tarts between legitimate needs, remember?”

The boys’ homework isn’t done properly or on time.  Cell phones are left on the counter when we dash out for the day.  Computers are crashing right and left.  Even a keyboard conked out the other day.

Just when our existence has become a series of foul-ups, bleeps and blunders, I’ve begun to despair.  Since all else has failed, I’m now taking advice on how to run my life from man-hole covers.  

Not to sound like a paranoid schizophrenic, but this message underfoot yesterday seemed meant just for me.  I’m going to take the manhole cover’s advice.  Sounds crazy,  yes, but it just might work.  And it’s a lot cheaper than therapy.


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