Not A Hugger

I get to my house, only to drive past it when I see the cars still lined up along the road. The driveway’s blocked, but I could easily park in the street and walk in. I opt to keep going anyway, to fight the crowds for Christmas wrapping paper I’m not sure we even need, not even changing after tennis. This is because my house is currently flooded with the people most likely to ask me boring personal questions; my mother’s bible study class. A lovely assortment of well-meaning ladies I just don’t feel like interacting with. They occupy an uncomfortable middle ground between strangers and friends, and as long as the answers to the majority of their questions will be weird (i.e. the school online thing) it’s easier to make small talk with the check-out lady at Target, willing her to ignore the navy top/black yoga pants combination I happened to throw on this morning.


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