frozen dinners

In the last four days, I've watched as my friends and I have been subjected to some of the most wonderful and treacherous parts of life. T got a 3 am text message announcing the arrival of our friends' brand new beautiful baby girl, their as-yet-unnamed and highly anticipated first child. Another friend was told at her first doctor's appointment that either the dates are off or the pregnancy isn't viable. She will be waiting a week in agony. This morning, a friend received a phone call informing him that his mother passed away unexpectedly. He will have to put law school aside to fly home for the funeral he had no idea was coming. I have been fielding calls all week from my wonderful cousins and aunts all expressing their excitement and happiness at our upcoming wedding, offering tidbits of advice and granting the use of their children for the day's ceremony. It will be a beautiful reunion of loved ones.

Fucking life.

I took the train an extra stop on the way home today so that I could walk through the market and pick up a couple frozen dinners for my mourning friend. It's a beautiful warm day outside, and half the city seems to be roaming the streets. On my walk, I passed a Mexican family, both parents holding a frozen popsicle and a toddler following along, whining and reaching for the mother's popsicle. As they passed me, I happened to hear the mom admonish her daughter (in Spanish) -- "No, because you'll drop it." I wouldn't have even remembered this, except that a moment later, I passed an old Italian man sitting outside a junk shop and smiling at me. I smiled back, and he said, "You see that? One for each of the parents, and none for the baby." He shook his head in dismay. "I wouldn't do that." At that point, I had already mostly passed him, but I felt compelled to turn and say, "She didn't want the baby to have it because she would drop it." "Then get her a small one," he said. For some reason, this exchange really annoyed me.