During a week at home, I devised and suppressed the following status updates:
At the Cinemark Movie Palace next to the Boca airport, the pre-movie slideshow is out of focus. In a town where blurred vision is a legitimate concern, this is more than mere irritation.
My parents use caller ID to ruthlessly avoid answering nuisance calls. It causes confusion for my sister and I as we wonder why the phone is ringing and ringing, eventually going to voicemail. Just now, “Alzheimer’s” called. No one answered. I’m trying to find profound symbolism in this.
We’re talking about unusual nicknames for grandparents (“Pop-pop,”, “Mimi,” “Iya,” etc). Dad says that if this *ever* comes up for him, he’d like to be called “P Diddy.”
While sinking my teeth into a buttery, delicious gingerbread blondie, I carelessly mention to my mother that I’m surprised she didn’t have a stock of cookies waiting for us when we arrived. I already regret this statement, but I know I will never want for cookies again.
My mom is slightly fixated on the story of a rabid river otter running loose around town. I optimistically propose that the otter will be eaten by a python. That’s how we roll in South Florida.