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Nyree90 - for what it’s worth, my brother is way less of an ass when he sneaks out of your house at 5am ;)

Oh, dear. He is not going to like this. I hit a heart on her comment, toss my phone in a purse I pulled from under my bed, and head downstairs to find my mom washing dishes in the kitchen.

“Ready?” she says, looking me up and down like she’s impressed I’ve got pants on.

“Sure, let's go do this.”

“Do you have a list?” I really hope she’s joking.

“Yes, it says everything.” Mom rolls her eyes, and we leave the kids with Dad so I can make sure they don’t starve to death next week. While we are out, my gut is churning and it’s not the hangover. I feel I might have made a huge mistake posting that video last night, what if I’ve chased him away for real? That won’t work for me, because even now, shopping for toilet cleaner with my mother, all I can think about is how good the sex with him was and how much I want more. I keep checking to see if he’s replied to my message, or if he’s reacted to the video, but nothing. It’s like he’s gone offline to live under a rock or something.

“Hi, Dion.” I knew it. One of the moms from Nelly’s softball team corners me in the frozen food aisle. “I saw your video last night. You are so brave and honest and open about, you know, being unmarried.” Unmarried. Bitch.

“I’m divorced, not unmarried. I chose not to put up with less than I deserved and kicked my cheating-ass husband out of my life. Brave has fuck all to do with it. I’m just clever.”

“I just meant it must be hard to be doing it all alone. And to try to find a good husband now, who isn’t taken, I’m sure that is no easy task.” Judgey-mac-judgerson over here is looking to get smacked on the head.

“It must be hard for you to know your husband is screwing the school secretary, but you know, finding another one will be so tough. I don’t want a husband, I had one and he was a dick, so it didn’t really work out so well for me. But hey, if you want an STD and a step-kid you don’t know about, knock yourself out with the marriage thing,” I say, before walking away. I will not punch a bitch in Target. I will not punch a bitch in Target.

“Who was that?” my mom asks.

“Some bitch.” She just shrugs her shoulders and dumps a bunch of frozen vegetables in my cart.

“Holly-Anna needs to eat some greens, she’s going to turn into a chip.” I just roll my eyes and remember that I choose my battles each day. What my kids do and don’t eat is one I choose not to fight.

“Sure Mom, but let's get fresh ones so Lola can eat them too.” Lola will eat them, all of them. Maybe Nelly, but Holly isn’t going to put a pea in her mouth. No chance.

Three stores, and a carload full of supplies later, we are finally home. My head is pounding and I’m sure the sun is personally attacking my retinas. I want to nap so badly. But no. My parents and children want to barbecue. So, we are outside in the sun that is burning through my lily-white skin, turning me into a strawberry. Mom and Nelly are messing about in the yard, something about growing vegetables for the rabbit — sounds like work to me. They can go right ahead. I’ll sit here with my giant glass of water and try not to die. Holly-Anna has the poor persecuted rabbit in her doll’s stroller with a hat on. Lola looks like she might grow fangs and eat her, but I leave them alone to do their thing.

“Mom, I need a big hat,” Holly says, interrupting the moment I was resting my eyes.

“For what?” It's five p.m. on a Sunday. Where must I get a hat?

“For tomorrow. Granny, you didn’t forget my talent day, did you?” I did! I forgot. “I am going to magician Lola out of a big hat,” she squeals, holding the bunny so tight I think her eyes might pop out. “Then I’m going to tell them how Lola is magical and can escape from anywhere. Like Houdini! He could even get out of an underwater box thingy and not die. Lola didn’t even die from the gas! She is a magical bunny.” She’s not wrong. Fuck it, I can’t believe I forgot this shit. Now I have to get up and make myself look like a functioning adult in the morning. There will be those over-achieving, helicopter moms who don’t have three kids and think their snowflakes are the most amazing thing since blue cheese. Lord, I can’t wait for my children to be done with school. I’m not cut out to be a parking-lot mom.

“No honey, Gran remembered,” my mom calls up to her from the garden. Fuck my fucking life, where are we going to get a hat the fat-ass bunny can fit in at this time on a Sunday night?

“Gramps has a hat for you, I’ll bring it in the morning. We’ll fetch you guys since Mom hasn’t got a key for her car. I’m sure your magic show will be brilliant.” I’m sure it will be very, very Holly-Anna. I will probably get called in to meet with her teachers. Again.