If only they'd had jell-o instead of cream buns... it might have changed everything...
In more poopy news, the SF Cody's is closing, leaving only the 4th Street locale in Berkley... independent bookstores are closing shop all over. 'Tis depressing...
In honor of getting a note from my dear editor that "we'd like to be finished up with the final edit by early May," and my subsequent lying on the floor and sighing, I present:
Fifteen, Maybe Sixteen Things to Worry About
by Judith Viorst
My pants could maybe fall down when I dive off the diving board.
My nose could maybe keep growing and never quit.
Miss Brearly could ask me to spell words like stomach and special.
I could play tag all day and always be "it."
Jay Spievack, who's fourteen feet tall, could want to fight me.
My mom and my dad--like Ted's--could want a divorce.
Miss Brearly could ask me a question about Afghanistan.
Somebody maybe could make me ride a horse.
My mother could maybe decide that I needed more liver.
My dad could decide that I needed less TV.
Miss Brearly could say that I have to write script and stop printing.
The world could maybe come to an end on next Tuesday.
The ceiling could maybe come crashing on my head.
I maybe could run out of things for me to worry about.
And then I'd have to do my homework (in this case, my editing) instead.