Are we conventional?
I ask my husband as I bake sugar cookies.
Depende, he says.
He expands on the definition of conventionality in a long Spanish narrative.
My ADD brain starts to wonder.
I wish I could speak Spanish like him. I stick my finger in one of his words.
Sprinkling cinnamon on sugar cookies is conventional, I tell him.
But going to bed at 6:30pm is not conventional.
We lay next to each other.
I turn on my side and grab Disgrace by J.M. Coetzee.
He falls asleep.
I start crying after reading four pages.
I close the book.
I reach for his hand.
I’m asking the wrong the question.
Soy una taza, ¡un cucharón!
4 days ago