06 Aug You are accepted (or, I’m married to a caveman)
The ceiling fan did not make a dent in the heat. It whirred enough to fill in the occasional conversational pause, but not much more. The backs of my thighs were glued to the wooden bench. When I adjusted my position, the sticky finish peeled off onto my skin with a ripping noise and left brown stain on my legs.
|Alex is asleep behind the couch.|
When midnight approached, my three kids were long asleep – Es and Em were in their beds; Al was on the floor behind the couch. After every other person in the room had been given a new label, finally it was my turn. (It was either a case of “they saved the best for last” or “I was the last one chosen for the team” – I’m not sure.)