“I don’t have the patience to be a professor.  I wouldn’t want to grade papers, prepare for classes, etc.  I would rather become renowned and envied in a certain field and then guest lecture.”

“What would you be an expert in?”

“Androgynous glamour.”

“What?  What does that mean?”

“Unisex appeal.”

I will never understand how my mother manages to smile after one of these exchanges.  Or how my sister can listen to a revue of metaphors (“I feel like Carrot-top playing Hamlet…the anesthesia before the operation…the Easter bunny on call for every holiday”) and not slug me like any self-respecting Lucy would.  They both somehow balance being guardians and audience members.

One day transition will no longer be normalcy, I will stun the artistic and Christian community with style and excellence, and Molly Ringwald will finally get an Oscar.

Until then, it’s just another manic Monday.