Featuring Kidd Wadsworth, Author of the Month

My neighbor, Sterling, complains. It seems I don’t bring my trash cans up promptly. But hey, I’ve got a life, and they’re TRASH CANS!

2020 was my worst year ever. To give you some perspective, in 2019 my dad died, but I do not consider 2019 to be as bad as 2020.

I was sixteen and working my first job at Wendy’s Old Fashioned Hamburgers. We were a lively crew. Jerry had the front register, Juanita and Javier were making sandwiches and scooping fries, Greg had the grill, and I was on the back register.

We arrive at 6 am. I sign a piece of paper which informs me of the risks of my day procedure using phrases such as “unforeseen side effects, including death.” A plastic bracelet is secured around my wrist. Promptly at 7 am, I kiss my husband goodbye and follow a stern-looking nurse through a side door. She points me to a changing room.

I think I have screwed up DNA. Amidst those A’s, C’s, G’s and T’s I must have a J or an L. You see, I just don’t feel guilty. Nope. Sorry. Well, actually I’m not sorry. I don’t even feel guilty for not feeling guilty.