Here’s how you know that the heart is a fragile fist:
(or how my heart stops and shrivels at things like these)
1) While cutting baby Jethro’s fingernails, my yaya took off a chunk of flesh and left a bloody gouge on his thumb. His yelp of pain set my blood to boiling.
2) A friend calls in the middle of the night and says, “I’m returning your husband to you, I can’t work with him anymore.” And will not listen to your explanations that you are no longer responsible for the ex-hubby, that you are happily separated, that you couldn’t care less.
3) That moment of contact: a cellphone punched into the side of your mouth.
4) Handing in my resignation letter at a company I practically helped built from the ground up, ending what, 10 years of a girl’s life.
5) Finding telltale shiny pieces of foil left on the bathroom sink.