Mom is receiving a chemotherapy treatment this morning and Charlie and I are escorting her there. We pray her white blood cell count is high enough to qualify, and we pray that she will have only mild reactions to the therapy if she does.
However, the cupboards are stocked with saltines and instant mashed potatoes...just in case.
She has been telling us that she wants to hit the road at ten til nine today. Charlie asked just now, 8:20, if we were still planning on leaving in a half an hour. Mom milled over the question and sucked in one corner of her mouth while her brow puckered. "Yeah...I'd say a half-hour/thirty minutes."
Charlie and I looked at each other as if to say, "I think more than her white blood cells are iffy."
Me: What about women's purses scares you menfolk so?
Scott: The junk you all put in them
Me: They tend to come in handy in a pinch. Need a Kleenex? check. An ibuprofen? double check. I haven't managed to find one big enough to haul the kitchen sink yet though...
Scott: Men get by with a wallet, which means, everything else is unneeded
Me: And they look so illy managed. There is the "man purse" out there these days
Scott: metrosexuals... *pfft*
