These
Sunday afternoons lean on me like the middle-seat passenger in a
car rounding a corner. I don’t look forward to the kiddie
small talk I can’t participate in or the inevitable “When
is it your turn?” Turns out “God! Not any time soon!”
really doesn’t go over all that well at a baby shower. I don’t
look forward to the subtle, and sometimes not so subtle, glances
at my left hand, which doesn’t sparkle. And I don’t
look forward to the look on the glancer’s face – thankfulness
in not having to search any longer; relief that this part of her
life is sorted out – the look I wish was on my face.
It’s
only when I am on the way back to my own life that I feel a genuine
sense of happiness for my friend. I finally feel the tiny weights
released from the corners of my mouth and smiling is again effortless.
I head home, exhausted, “good friend” duty done for
another week. I hope there isn’t another invitation waiting
on the hall table.
~Erin MacLean is a communications advisor by day. She freelances
sparingly. No custom is safe from her.
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