I can’t say a lot about today, which happens sometimes when I don’t leave the grounds. Since visitors’ weekend is coming up and it was only 112 degrees outside, I thought it might be a good time to sweep out my ill-ventilated garage, which I've done twice before in the five years I’ve lived here. I knew luck wasn’t on my side when I found three live geckos stuck in the glue traps that the pest control guy had left for scorpions. My heart sunk deeper with each paint can I dropped on the traps, Sophie's worst choice. I put them—-traps and all—-in the Dumpster in the alley, along with the roach carcasses, leaves, icky pennies, and other small debris I had swept up.
Lost in my heart of darkness, gecko-murderer, sweeping dirt with sweat pouring down my face and a sick feeling creeping into my belly from warm Kool-Aid, I looked up and saw, to my horror, that somebody had parked in my driveway. Oh my God, my heart skipped a beat, who could it be, who was going to see me like this, there was blood splatter, my socks didn’t match and I was wearing my “Bipolar Mohler” t-shirt with my dad’s face on the front, *not funny now*, even my tinted Clearasil had melted away to reveal the biggest zit I’d ever had as the adult child of an alcoholic, oh my God...oh wait, that was my car.