The other night, I was lying in bed on the verge of sleep when I heard – thump, thump.
I figured it was Trouble falling down the last few stairs, as she often does. But my husband was in the living room and I knew he’d tend to her.
But a few minutes later, I heard him coming up the stairs. I fell asleep before I could figure out what was going on.
Turns out, as I learned the next day, my daughter had fallen out of bed. It was the first time. It was her whimpering that drew my husband upstairs.
He walked into her room and found her sitting cross-legged on the floor, pretty much asleep.
“Hey,” he said.
She opened her eyes and looked around.
“Where am I?” she asked.
“In your room.”
“What am I doing?”
“You fell out of bed.”
And then true to form, she narrowed her eyes into that squint we’ve come to know so well and said, “No, I didn’t.”
Even in the deadest of sleeps her first instinct is, deny, deny, deny!
***
The other day I wrote this post about how my character completely transforms the moment I get behind the wheel of my car, and how as a result I’ve been taking public transportation to work.
Public transportation is great, but there are drawbacks. Like, sometimes, you get stuck on a crowded metro car with someone who just stinks. I know, I know, it’s awful to say, but we’ve all been there.
On Wednesday, it happened to me. I was sitting on the metro, my bag in my lap, reading Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close on my Kindle when I noticed that someone smelled really bad.
Jeebus, I thought. What the fuck is that smell?
I looked all around but you can’t tell from looking. I suffered through a painful 8 minutes until we got to my stop.
I got off the metro and headed up the escalator. But I noticed the smell was still with me. I whipped my head around to see if I recognized anyone from the metro car… but no.
And that’s when it hit me. It was me. I was the smelly one.
Let’s take a few steps back.
On Tuesday evening, I was riding the metro home with my friend/colleague. I mentioned I was going to swing by the bagel place because my son loves when I make him bagels and cream cheese for lunch.
“Oh,” she said. “I love everything bagels. Do you know where they sell them here?”
Everything bagels are essentially bagels with poppy seeds, sesame seeds, garlic and onion.
“I”m pretty sure they sell them where I’m going.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m thinking of having a friend ship me some from New York.”
We parted ways and I continued on to the bagel shop. I bought my bagels, and of course, bought one everything bagel for my friend. When I got home, I realized that if I put that bagel on the counter, my husband would zero in on it with that bizarre radar he has for things that are edible and don’t belong to him.
So I did the smart thing.
I put it in my bag.
***
So I swear to you, when I wrote that post about road rage, I knew absolutely nothing about the following movie. And that’s a pretty big admission on my part, seeing as IT’S MY JOB TO PROMOTE THESE MOVIES.
But in my defense, it had just gone up on the site that week, and I’ve got a pile of screeners on my desk a water bottle high.
But when I saw the title, my jaw dropped. Then I read the synopsis. Then I watched it. And then I knew I had to share it. Enjoy.
