What is she good at?
As I failed to get the volume button to respond on the remote, Asher remarked to a visiting five-year old friend, “My mom isn’t good at using the television. She’s not good at anything.” Visiting five year old (clearly not raised by wolves): “She must be good at something. Everyone is good at something.” Asher: “She’s good at sleeping.” Couple of take-aways. I’m not ashamed of the fact that I am not good at using the television. It’s part intellectual snobbery (have you guys ever seen how easy it is to open a book?), and part an acceptance of a deep inability of my brain to get interested in and then think through how anything in the world works (not sure what order those two come in, but I may have it backwards in the sentence). If I have a toaster with four slices that only cooks two slices, we will live with that toaster for years until either someone gets us another one, or the intersection of me feeling flush with cash (rare) intersects with me standing in a Home Goods store (equa