This is a classic from the email newsletter archives. You should subscribe if this is your jam.
Once upon a time, I was sleeping on my little sissy’s couch. It was either that or snuggle with her in bed and since her son was still nursing, I was afraid of awkward encounters of the midnight snacking variety. Anyway, I awoke to the sound:
The plane was unharmed, or at least not any more harmed than it had been before the unfortunate fall to the concrete beneath the tree. Jack blew on it with relief, dislodging a leaf from a wheel, and then spit on it to rub out an especially dirty spot on the intact wing.
I know the War Office will have contacted you by now (I also know receiving communication from them must fill you with anxious trepidation: I am so sorry to be the cause of that), and you will have been told that I am back where I should be. Safe and returned to duty.
They tell me I spent several days recovering at the hands of a beautiful war nurse (I am only kidding and testing if you are paying attention. In truth, she was shaped like an elephant and had a thicker mustache than I) but knowing the war to be coming a close, I chose to finish my post rather than come home to you just yet. I hope you aren’t angry, though you know how are adorable I find you when you are angry.
I have been transferred to the Rifle Brigade 10th Battalion BEF for now. I think they are leery of giving me a plane since I rather annihilated the last one. Being on the ground is no place for me though: I march through the mud and muck with stomping feet and scowl at everyone I see.
You will get the news soon enough, but by some kind hand of God and one enemy soldier, you will hear it from me first. I have been shot down and am now behind enemy lines. Now don’t be scared. I am injured, yes, but not mortally – even my spirits are lifted as this letter is being lifted: right over the walls by the very man who brought me down.
You see, the flight was cloudy, and I became disoriented. Before I knew what had happened, I’d been hit. The man who did it followed me as I made an emergency landing. I wish I’d known then it was an enemy airfield. They are so hospitable they wouldn’t hear of me leaving!
Being well-rounded is a goal we most likely all have for our children. We want them to be good at everything, or at least we do when they’re shiny and new.
After a while, our standards lower just a tad: during middle school years we just want them to shower occasionally and speak with a modicum of intelligence instead of grunting for food like a zoo animal.
I think we tend to forget that no one is perfectly well-rounded. Case in point: Yours Truly.
Once upon a time, we were coming out of a strange and wonky, terrible, horrible, no good, very bad year, and we were left with little in the way of personal possessions. This had been quite tolerable since we kind of prefer the minimalist life anyway and you’d be surprised at how much you do NOT need.
I basically AM Marie Kondo. But, you know, chubby and American.