“The Experts” by Amy Rigby
“Mommy, can we go to McDonald’s?” Hazel asked in her piping voice. . . .
“Mommy, can we go to McDonald’s?” Hazel asked in her piping voice. . . .
Beautiful spring day in Ohio. Laundry room in the basement. Hanging clothes on the inside line from the dryer so they won’t be a wrinkled mess. My son, as usual, hungry for a snack. How does he always know when I don’t want to be interrupted in the middle of a task? . . .
Bogo got the call from Sammy. It sounded all wrong. “Bogo, the bastard brought a crew to the exchange. They damn near killed us, but don’t worry, we still got the goods . . .”
When the doorbell rang, I almost didn’t answer it. I wasn’t expecting anyone at seven on a Tuesday night . . .
If Rudolf Dreikurs had not died in 1972, I might be in prison today . . .
While walking to the playground one afternoon, JR practiced his road safety by stopping at every stop sign he saw. He would chime, “Red says stop,” while he looked left, then right, and a second continue, “Green means go.” And so JR went through the neighborhood obeying the stop signs and exploring each drain . . .
On the last day of November, Chip spent his hour commute composing a suicide letter in his head, absently passing pokey sedans, picturing his boss’s face when the dickhead heard about the tragedy . . .
Potty training. So . . .