It’s not often that I can taste envy. But it’s bitter.
There’s a dad with his two sons at the next table. They just came from soccer practice, and the mom is having a girls’ night with Cindy from work, and they all expect they’ll get home before Mom does.
I expect they are right. Live it up, Mom, wherever you are.
I’m tired of running the race without a partner.
I’m ready to be a helpmate. (I’m a really good one.)
I’m ready to love again.
We all are.