One reason I love writing about small businesses and entrepreneurs is that I have a big, wet, soft spot for underdogs of any and all varieties. I know I’m supposed to be objective, but I want these folks to make it, particularly the ones who’ve put everything on the line for a lifelong dream. I heart that kind of commitment and persistence big.
Then every once in a while, I end up talking to a small business person who is haughty and self-righteous and says not nice things about my underdog friends, and it ruins my day, so I have to go out and drink four beers instead of two. Four beers on a tummy holding just a bit of popcorn and a peppermint stick. But the beers made me happy and silly and unable to sleep. Of course, the boy woke me up three times as well, which he rarely does anymore. The last time was at 5:30 a.m., and neither of us went back to sleep.
Now I’ve got this sour beer in my tummy feeling and I’m too tired to focus, although I need to pack up the Mommy van to drive myself, the kidlings, and the Biscuit to Atlanta this afternoon. Where, luckily, I will be seeing and staying with old friends, including my best friend from high school and college and my best friend from when I lived in London, who now lives in Addis Abbaba, so when her family is anywhere within an 800-mile vicinty of mine, I try to see them.
Meanwhile E-spouse is schmoozing in Sweden. The e-mail I got from him yesterday said he was hanging out with the Queen of Jordan and she’s HOT. That’s the kind of e-mail I get while I’m feeding and driving and getting up in the middle of the night with his kids.
Have a great weekend, y’all.
