I like to think of myself as a pretty smart gal. I’ve got it (mostly) together. I can add 2+2. I can make myself shower most days. I can make dinner for me and another person. I can hold my own in a conversation about theology, politics or “Downton Abbey.” I can draw inside the lines, dot my i’s and cross my t’s. I haven’t been homeless or accidentally starved myself to death since I moved out of my parents’ house, so that’s a win (I can thank instant oatmeal and quesadillas for the latter in my college years).
Even then, though, I have my moments of dudehowdidthatjusthappen. Like when I put the cereal box in the refrigerator. Or when I stub my toe so bad by merely walking that it’s completely black and blue for two weeks and I fear it might fall off (Update: It did not). Or when I accidentally lock myself out of the bookstore where I work and I’m the only one working and have to call my mom to come rescue me. Or when I accidentally drink the whole bottle of wine. These things happen.4
Wake up, people! It’s November and we’ve already snoozed for an extra hour and we’re about to pick a president. We’ve recovered from our Halloween candy hangovers and we’re ready to talk turkey. There’s frost on the ground and I’m busting out my winter collection of scarves and mittens. The times they are a-changin’.
Oh, and I’ve already got Christmas on the brain. In the form of cookies. #figures16