Son#3 had a sick day with the husband while I went to work.
I wrote an article on dyslexia and then suffered through an awkward meeting with my boss.
She looked at me with doe-eyes, surely expecting me to be heartbroken about my job.
Little does she know that I'm clicking my heels like Wizard-of-Oz-Dorothy.
Son#1 is going to his first disco tomorrow night.
I'm sure it's not called a disco anymore, but that's beside the point.
I'm not old school.
I'm just old.
.
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