This past Saturday I threw the day away wrestling my way through boutiques shopping for the very sake of it and later spent the evening getting ready for, well, the very sake of it. I was running late, Kimmay was running later and I needed to get out the door. Having just spent the last hour and a half flat ironing my hair and cautiously applying make up I didn’t have the time to respond to several text messages when one stopped me as I headed out the door. With my purse draped over shoulder it meticulously hit the side of my hip guaranteeing the emergence of a bruise. My arms were filled with lip gloss, camera, bottle of water, and phone when I turned on my heel, dropped everything and did nothing as I watched my contents scatter across the linoleum tile. My heart began to pound and a small lump formed in the pit of my throat with a force that drives men to declare war. My right arm moved up the course of my body stopping to rest on my hip. “Breathe deep,” I was telling myself while the left arm wiped a tear. Bending down and reaching for my phone I replied to his text message.

DAD: “Hi Honey. I love you. Be good to yourself. ”

It’s always the small stuff