The spear gun has been around for weeks and I’m pretty sure it’s been sitting there off-and-on for almost a week. But sometimes, in the hustle and bustle and normal shuffle of everyday life here, I forget how completely insane this whole adventure is.
Less than a year ago I had an office with a window overlooking Walnut Street in Philadelphia. I wore high heels, strapless dresses and pearls to work—pearls! ha! In fact, I wore a diamond every day!
There were dogs—friendly, clean, flea-free, trained ones—that freely roamed around my office and I had treats in my file cabinet.
I browsed the Internet at will and would sometimes be on the phone with a co-worker, texting my husband, and checking my inbox all at the same time. Baaaaaaahahahahaha … using the Internet for pleasure! That cracks me up.
I could take the elevator (Ha! An elevator!) downstairs and find myself a cappuccino, a truffle, a martini, a Greek yogurt, a fruit salad, a soft pretzel with extra mustard, a caffeine free Diet Coke or a prescription for Prozac all on the same day (perhaps not in that order) and all within a one block radius.
And now … there’s a spear gun on my kitchen table.
Somebody pinch me.
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