A little flabby-butted, a little coffee-breathed, and a logic which puts friends before ironing--that is myself. (Forget your textbooks; no more keeping them where cookbooks should sit; they are no longer part of your reading.)
As one already at the point of ordering heirloom seed catalogues in place of Vogue, stop obsessing about your body--of its burdensome blood, its bones, its knot of freckles and dimples and aches. The breath, too: what is that? The most beautiful moments pass as a sigh or gasp; (and not even of the same lung capacity as if you were running more). But the third, the housewife logic, the mistress mind--on this you must concentrate. Now that your hair requires regular colouring, let your priorities play the part of a slave no more, veering like a Swiffer at dust, towards all opportunities to volunteer at school. And stop getting personally insulted over the endless meals your kids think are cruddy, by henpecking them today about the lego they left out, or worrying if they will have an "accident" at daycare tomorrow.
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