When I find myself in times of trouble, no one who is either a mother or named Mary comes to me.
Probably because I have no words of wisdom.
Let me be.
Instead, when placed knee-deep in the ickiness of great duress, I ask myself. . .
. . . What Would Patty Do?
Because Patty is da bomb.
She is the woman who is the yin to my yang in all difficult situations. Within the body of a birdlady beats the heart of a lion.
While I tortoise, she is direct. While I am fighting the urge to slowly curl into a fetal position and hum, she is the one with all the right questions and all the right actions.
Yet, for some strange reason, this cartoon somehow struck a chord with me:
Just don't tell Patty.
Please.
She kind of scares me.
The blue ball of happiness
10 hours ago