taking the passive out of passive-aggressive

Monday, July 05, 2004

I am living a bizarre and agoraphobic life, limited by the boundaries of four streets. Shopping at the Eddie's and sitting in the garden are quite worthwhile, although I'm starting to get a little bit smothered by the whole scene.

My neighborhood is the last bastion of the deep south, although technically we're in a border state. Black nannies stroll the white children around, and Mexican gardeners keep the whole place watered and mulched. I am an anomaly, a woman walking her own children around, not rich, not particularly thin or tan. I go to the neighborhood pool and feel intimidated by the young nannies and the even younger lifeguards. I take the children to the pharmacy and get all verklempt when the prescription isn't filled on time. I eat chicken salad sandwiches, when I can remember to eat, and the rest of the time I look for an opportunity to nap.

On occasion, I do leave the neighborhood, and go to the next neighborhood over to sit on my best friend's back porch, and watch her child eat pudding or something. And sometimes I even call long-distance, and talk to other women who are sitting on their own back porches, smoking cigarettes and drinking wine, wondering what's going to happen next.


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