Tomorrow, an old professor of mine will be coming for a visit. He and his wife are in town, passing through after weeks of travel in Asia, and asked to stop by. My husband and I first met in this professor’s class long ago (almost exactly ten years ago if we want to talk specifics) and he came to our wedding. He is a bit of an odd duck, but he is very dear to us.
But suddenly, I am wishing we were more successful and doing something of value with our college degree. I’m wishing we had a bigger house and our children were better behaved. I don’t know why the opinion of this man from our past matters at all, but it does. I want to impress him. I want to still be one of his favorites. I want him to look at us, nod and think to himself, “I done good.”
That’s what I’d really like, but I’d settle for my 5-year-old, who doesn’t possess a single shy bone in her body and has NO filter whatsoever, behaving like the polite, delightful, poised young lady that I know she can be if she tries very, very hard. And please, my darling girl. Please. Whatever you do, please don’t talk about my vagina.