Watching her hippocampus shrink, I thought I would cry (but when I didn’t cry, I thought I’d shout). That slow shuffle, pushing that damn walker. I thought I’d run out of patience before she ran out of tiny steps. (My patience never thinned; it never shredded like worn cotton thrown in the wash too many times.)
Yet when the asshole in front of me lingers at a stoplight (chattering with his friend through his deluxe car speaker), my hand is on the horn with no second thought.
I might be patient when listening to a child talk about his imaginary superheroes or her pony made entirely of glitter (but talk to me about your 401k, and my tolerance runs wire thin).
I guess what I’m saying is choose your battles with caution because my whims are arbitrary and my forbearance – unpredictable.
I can be kind and not object to the woman writing a check in front of me at the supermarket, but unwrap a crinkling wrapper at the symphony & you will receive a glare (wilting through Queen Anne’s lace and lacerating through hearts like a guillotine).
Isabelle Palerma 