A random thought hit me the other day: It’s reasonably likely that I am, to one person at least, the girl who got away.
Not that I think myself a catch. This thought was part of a larger one: Odds are, everyone is “the one that got away” to someone.
This thought occurred to me as I was driving home with two screaming children in the back seat. It was 7 o’clock on a Saturday night, and most of the cars on the road were heading toward the city. Going out for the night. My plans consisted of baths, stories, and bed. I was hoping we’d all be asleep by 9.
I then wondered if this hypothetical person would still feel that way, seeing me coated in sticky toddler hand prints and baby puke.
Probably not. But it gave me a good laugh just when I really needed one.