Here’s a little something for Clio Bluestocking. She’s got a book contract–life’s been good to her so far:
Tell me your good news. I haven’t had any lately myself–so let me enjoy yours! (I haven’t had any bad news either, thank goodness, so please don’t read this as self-pitying.) I’ve reached the age when no news really is good news, and when boring is exactly what I’m looking for. Boring is just fine, because not-boring could only mean the 3 Ds of the middle-class, middle-aged apocalypse: disease, death, or divorce.
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