Love Hitches a Ride

Writing Real Life

I’m not the sort to pick up hitchhikers.  I’m the sort who silently blesses their safe passage, hoping someone other than a vulnerable lone woman will help them reach their destination.  Today, of all days, should have been no exception.  But it was.

I detest driving this heavily truck-travelled, traffic-light-laden road.  It is 2:30 on Saturday afternoon and I am free from the demands of home and children for a scant few hours.  I can’t wait to sip tea and do some writing before steeping myself in the salt cave to cleanse the tension that remains of the past few days.

The phone vibrates.  It’s a text from my daughter.  She left the twins’ diaper bag in the trunk and they are crying.  Thankfully, these are mechanical babies, part of a school project, and not actual grandchildren, but the need is real.  If she fails this project, she fails to…

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