If Barb Taub and I lived somewhat close to each other (say if, for instance, there was something less than an ocean between us), I like to imagine that when Barb returned from her trip to India I would have lured her to my house with promises of cake and whiskey. We’d sit down someplace comfy, whiskey in hand and she would regale us with her travels through India.
In real life I’d likely spend the night in tears.
Tears of laughter.
The kind of laughter that lasts for so long that it gets hard to breathe and is possibly a bit painful. Of course, that’d be in real life.
Please, read Do Not Wash Hands In Plates, but remember, you are not talking with Barb in real life. It may feel as if you are but when you “share” that whiskey, don’t forget that you are reading from…
View original post 91 more words