“Why is that baby being such a dick?”
This was in 2009. My husband, Jeff, and I were on our way to Berlin, and a toddler a few rows ahead of us was voicing dissatisfaction with his sudden corporeal confinement by making the sorts of noises Janis Joplin might have produced had she lived to accidentally stick her hand into a garbage disposal.
I rolled my eyes and returned to my US Weekly and Delta-issue merlot. “I know. What an asshole.”
John Lennon once sang of instant karma. But in my case, it took three years. Read More