The tale of my life is as old as time. I have always been on the short end of the stick, was always picked last for team sports and always hear the proverbial other shoe drop with clarity.

So, imagine my sheer and utter delight when I opened my email last week to find that * I * had an uncle I never even KNEW existed. Furthermore, and to his credit, He DIED. And DIED RICH!

The email, written in broken English explained that my Uncle had no other living relatives, died alone...

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The tale of my life is as old as time. I have always been on the short end of the stick, was always picked last for team sports and always hear the proverbial other shoe drop with clarity.

So, imagine my sheer and utter delight when I opened my email last week to find that * I * had an uncle I never even KNEW existed. Furthermore, and to his credit, He DIED. And DIED RICH!

The email, written in broken English explained that my Uncle had no other living relatives, died alone...

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"Your nails look like crap!" This from the man who promised to love me through sickness and health, better or worse, and coincidentally has been using the same hairbrush since the Regan administration. Not exactly the foremost authority on grooming.

Yes, I will admit it. I have bad nails. I don't bite them or pick them or make them perform heroic acts. They just don't like to grow. Period.
...

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"Your nails look like crap!" This from the man who promised to love me through sickness and health, better or worse, and coincidentally has been using the same hairbrush since the Regan administration. Not exactly the foremost authority on grooming.

Yes, I will admit it. I have bad nails. I don't bite them or pick them or make them perform heroic acts. They just don't like to grow. Period.
...

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My heart pounding, sweat beads forming on my brow, I stared into the toilet at the brown, murky liquid. My mind checked off all possible offenders- My husband was at work, my daughter was at school, the cat was sprawled on my pillow, in the exact same position I'd left him last Tuesday. My son, Anthony is only 21 months old. Could he have picked TODAY to remove his button up pajamas, tear off the duct tape that we use to keep his diaper on, and potty trained HIMSELF?

Logic took over...

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