I didn’t choose to live in Ohio. Ohio chose me. Or my parents chose Ohio. Either way. A couple of my siblings have made it out. I must say, I’m a bit jealous. I’ve had it with this place. I get tired of my brother complaining that it’s a chilly 65 degrees while I’m trudging through mountains of snow.
We haven’t exactly made it a secret that we are ready to move some place south. Some place warm. Some place…not Ohio. Unfortunately, thanks to our litter of kids, we are stuck here for the foreseeable future.
Last night, we were all standing in the kitchen. I had just returned from the grocery store. I was fetching fruit, or some such nonsense. The 13-year-old picked up one of the plastic grocery bags and placed on her head. (Don’t worry. It wasn’t covering her face. Though, she was poised to move it.)
“Do you want me to suffocate so you guys can move, or do you want me to live and you have to stay here?” she asked.
Without missing a beat, I replied, “You can’t put me in that position.”
Luckily, we all shared a laugh and moved on to another topic (Sliced versus chunked cantaloupe, I believe), and I never had to answer the question.
There isn’t always time to stop and think before the words make it to your mouth.