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“Bless your heart,” says Wendy. I can never tell down here when this is a nice thing to say and when it is meant to be cruel, so I wince whenever I hear it.
“Let’s just bring Linus for one more banquet. He’s growing up fast, and my hours are so long. I hardly see him as it is.” “What’s to see? He’s a lump,” Seth says. I sigh. “Enough with that, Seth,” I tell him firmly. “He’s really a good kid.” “You’re right,” he says quickly. “He is. I love him; you know that. That’s why I’m not willing to give up on him.” “And I thank you for it,” I tell him, finding that once again Seth and I are better off polite than honest. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“You don’t need me—you’re a pro. Make the sangria, throw away the golf food, buy the kids too much dessert. Same as every year.” Exactly the same, in that just like the years before, Seth has done nothing to help. Mentally, I underline work on marriage on my interminable to-do list.
She often told me a quick surrender will take all the wind out of an angry person’s sails and make them notice how rude they are being. That doesn’t happen here.
Vodka in sangria!” she now says to herself. “Now that’s a party right there.” She says more quietly: “A party you regret the next day.” Hmph. I hardly think my sangria is going to land someone in the ER.
“Look,” says Wendy. “What do they do in Freaky Friday? They try to run directly into each other until they practically concuss themselves. They scream and shout and cry. Then, eventually, after a lot of carrying on, they get dressed as the other person and try to go about life as normal until their bodies switch back. Shouldn’t we just skip to that part?” I blink at her in absolute shock. I feel like I have a lot more screaming and shouting and crying in my future.