Ode to English Peas

Someone called Professor Kathy’s house yesterday and asked when she’d be getting her next shipment of English peas. For the record, Professor Kathy is a professor of architecture, not a farmer or green grocer or anything like that. So the likelihood of her pea procurement was slim. As such, she responded to this (her words) “charming, well-spoken” caller with an equally charming and well-spoken “WHAT?????”

And then he hung up.

Granted, it was a garden variety misdial, but after the past couple of weeks I’ve been having, stuff like this is starting to seem sort of normal and perhaps even welcome. Because if Professor Kathy can’t find the right kind of paper to make the boxes she needs to make for a coming exhibit and if I am going dotty factchecking (not to mention falling behind on my actual writing assignments…I’m so ashamed), it seems like one or both of us might be better off selling these goddamned peas for a living.

Perhaps that’s just the stress talking, though. Normally one to keep it together, I had a rare run-in with a couple of cupcakes one day this week, a binge that ran afoul of my normal self control. On Thursday, I got a little teary-eyed in my Pilates class, and not because all the ab work hurt, either. You get the drift. I should have worked this afternoon so I could be caught up. Instead I nodded off for a couple of hours after curling up with a really fun memoir about a woman who adopted a pig.

And so it goes.

Have mercy on me, fair readers. I will be back in top form and soon.