When I was young I imagined that by this point in my life I’d be a lady of leisure. I expected to be lying about eating bon-bons, although I wasn’t then, and am still not, sure what those are. I thought people – you know, the ubiquitous “my people” – would be taking care of the chores of daily living. This would leave me free to lunch with other ladies of leisure, attend charity events and become a charter member of the garden club.
However, I sit here tonight with grass clippings in my shoes from mowing the lawn – with a push mower no less, I have no people, and nary a bon-bon is to be found in my environs.
These dreams were obviously the result of far too much television viewing because no one in my immediate world was leading a life of leisure. Nonetheless, how, oh how, do these childhood dreams go so desperately awry?
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