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I did my taxes today, face to face with an Irish extrovert. Which made me tired. And slightly poorer. My tax guy is a whiz and easy to talk to – or in my case, listen to – friendly, smart, outgoing and … exhausting.

While I was waiting my turn to be assaulted with friendliness, I was playing with my phone. I can’t get past level 20 on Angry Birds. The birds are not angry enough. So I flipped through the pictures on my phone.

I deleted shots like this  (okay, that’s not really true. I decided to delete it but then I saved it so I could post it here. By the way, that’s a picture of the cat hair on my jeans after Fiona brushed against me. I’m thinking about leaving her on the deck until she stops molting).



That’s when I found this picture that I took at a car wash. From inside the car. Because I’m braver now and robotic arm car washes don’t make me cry anymore. But they still make me a little nervous. I sent this pic to MMB so that she would know where to find me if we lost contact. Hey, some people don’t like clowns. I have a thing about car washes. Don’t judge me.


Remember when I started wearing contacts and had to do this? Cheaters. Readers. Little old lady glasses. I have another pair at work, as a spare. I had spare reading glasses, oh my God. But now? Now I don’t need them because I have discovered the joys of multiple, simultaneous … fields of vision. Multi-focal contacts, that’s what’s up.

I can see the book in my hands, the television across the room and the computer monitor. One contact is distance and the other is multi-focal. The eye doctor played around for six weeks before we finally got a combination that worked for me. But I’m worth it.

Also, whoever subscribed me to Vogue? Thank you. And you might need to change the address soon because I put in a rental app for some new walls to hold my stuff.