Sweet T. and Biscuits

This is my second try, writing it all down. I just trashed a 2-page draft that detailed the whole thing from start to finish, although there wasn't really a start, no moment when it hit me that something was wrong. People are so resilient that even when things aren't going the way they're supposed to we rationalize, one little weird moment after another until they've piled up and you realize you can't put off going to a doctor any longer. Even when you've had an upset stomach...for a year. Even when the pain you're only supposed to get one week a month slowly creeps, one day at a time, into every single day. Even when the pain stops you mid-sentence, a short, stabbing shot, or sometimes a long, excruciating pull on your nerves, stretching them like taffy from your back all the way down to your legs, buckling under you in the middle of your kitchen. It's only then that it occurs to you that maybe you should get your ass to a doctor. (Although my hippie pa

There comes a point in every girl's life when, suddenly, it begins. Maybe it's an offhand comment, a commercial that you can't forget, a shirt you realize looks terrible on you. Maybe you remember it or maybe you were too young to really know what it meant, but there's just no escaping...The Trickle. I don't remember the very first time I noticed The Trickle, but I do remember certain droplets. I remember a distant cousin telling me, when I was 6, that when I grew up I was gonna be "a knockout." I didn't know what a knockout was, but it sounded awesome, like a superhero (you can imagine my disappointment). I remember my grandma saying, when I was maybe 10, that my mom should get me into modeling, and I'd "only have to lose a few pounds." I remember Santa in my elementary school gym looking me up and down and pointedly telling me I looked like I'd been "a  very  good girl this year." I was in sixth grade