Bitter Bessy was looking forward to a few days all on her own while her kids frolicked at her folks' house, soaking up the Grandparent-y affection and love. And blueberry picking. Bitter hoped to work out a little (a feeble attempt at virtue) and then spend many many hours drinking coffee and losing herself at Powell's Books. And then Bitter was going to see if Mr. Doesn't Know He is Bitter Yet wanted to meet her for middle eastern food downtown. She was going to skip the hummus menu and sway him with the belly dancer portion of the evening.
Then Grandma Not Bitter But Could Be Swayed called to say that her dang Durango died. A good daughter would have said nice things to the one who brought her into the world, considering she was the one stuck on a scary rural road. But Bitter Bessy whined about rain on her parade. Because that's how she rolls.
Bitter slept on it and decided that the last
Bitter felt better and perhaps a little sweet.
(Sometimes a little time alone is all the mama needs. See also: getting up with the sun.)
bitter motherhood solitude