It’s time to come clean: I have no idea who you are.
Yes, you, the one I’ve been corresponding with for several months. You, the one I see four times a day, five days a week. You, who know all the names, ages, talents, foibles, shoe sizes, birth weights and breakfast cereal preferences of each of my children. Perhaps you think I recognize you because my face lights up when I see you, and I appear delighted to be spending time in conversation with you, one of my favorite people.
Well, that’s not delight. That’s sheer panic. On the inside, I’m thinking, “Oh, lord, give me a clue here. Short woman, dark hair, dark eyes. Something to do with kids. Either my pediatrician, or the...READ MORE