Front Desk Woman: Volume 3

“You’re breastfeeding, right?” Somebody told Pansy, but she couldn’t remember who. “Well then, you can’t drink that extra large caramel macchiato,”

“Is that a long neck beer?” Asked another random judgment-coated-unsolicited-advice-giver. “You can’t have that!”

“A marathon? Psha. You won’t feel like doing that after giving birth. Try that elderly, gentle yoga class at the Y instead.”

“Looks like you’re having trouble zipping your favorite boots. You know your feet will never go back to the way they were, don’t you? While we’re chatting, nothing will go back. Nothing!”

“It’s all over for you, Mama,” someone simplified everyone’s counsel directly and succinctly. “Life as you know it, over!”

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Randi PinkComment
TIMONE-LESS PUMBAS

I’m beginning to think that a writer who’s fucked up is an irreparable human, never to be given a single benefit of a single doubt again. The words they’ve dreamt of getting paid to write are now worthless, housed in the box marked free to good home.

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Randi PinkComment
Faulty Filter

“I fear that my internal social media filter is faulty, and the only way I can think to repair it is to give myself a break for all platforms. Really, I think it’s been broken for a while now. It’s time. I’m taking a week off of IG, FB, PINTEREST, and TWITTER. I’ll post an update next Monday to let everyone know how that went. Why am I nervous?”

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Randi PinkComment
BURIED STRANGE

“From time to time, we plant strange secrets down deep into bad soil where they have no chance of catching sunlight. Painful ones that we don’t dare want to see grow. Blunt forced ones that left us bruised in places we don’t even show to our spouses. Regretful ones that make us kick cuts into our own sore ankles. But the strange are the ones we’re here for today. “

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Randi PinkComment