refuse to excuse

Some things just really burn me up.

This morning, I was ringing up two regular customers, a really nice guy and girl who work close by, and they were chatting as I was taking their order. The woman says to her colleague, "Yeah, that project really raped me," then turns to me and says, "Excuse my language," and carries on with her conversation. I had to turn away quickly, under the guise of pouring their coffee, so I wouldn't say one of the million things running through my mind, not one of them being, "Oh sure, you're excused." No, I will NOT excuse you for casually dropping the term "raped" into your conversation. 2 years of involvement in the Vagina Monologues and personally knowing rape victims has taught me better. I only wish she (yes, she - can we get back to that? Talk about girl-on-girl violence.) had the faintest idea of what that term means to millions of women. I doubt she would be able to use it so nonchalantly.

Excuse me while I step off my soapbox.

In other news, life trudges along, guided by little lanterns of hope in the shape of a cup of tea and good book at the end of the day, or weekly TV dates with Jonathan, or the biggest light of all, my family. In one week I will be flying home to be with them for 5 whole days, celebrating Thanksgiving and my mom's 50th birthday. That's been enough to get me through some really tough moments in the last week. When I get down, I just put Harry Connick, Jr. on my iTunes and fast-forward to the day after Thanksgiving, when my brother, sister, and I will help my mom and Dennis put up Christmas decorations. We will venture with flashlights into the cavernous depths of our closet under the stairs with its sloping roof and awkward angles, pulling out boxes of ornaments, lights, wreaths, and garlands. We will laugh at our first-grade attempts at art, the hand-print wreaths, the popsicle-stick picture frames. Yet, those will inevitably end up on the tree, right next to fragile glass snowflakes that could've come from a Pottery Barn catalog. It's the hodgepodge of home-made, inside joke, and elegant ornaments that make our tree so special.

Plus, we will get to bake some DELICIOUS holiday treats. I'm trying to convince my sister that WW cookies are just as good as the Pillsbury kind, but she has yet to see the potential for greatness that is applesauce. I will make her see the light!