A man up the street is screaming into his cell phone. It is early morning, still grey.

NO! SHUT UP! YOU NEED TO LISTEN. YOU NEED TO LISTEN TO ME.

I push the stroller across the street quickly, and try to figure out where the sound is coming from. He is at least two blocks away, dressed in a red sports jersey and matching track pants.

I DO HAVE SOMETHING TO DO WITH IT! I GOT EVERYTHING TO DO WITH IT. YOU NEED TO SHUT UP RIGHT NOW AND LISTEN TO ME.

He takes a few steps, pauses to scream, takes a few more steps. Hank and I walk to the neighborhood coffee shop and take a seat. A few minutes later, I see the man through the window. The hum of the cafe deadens his words, but he is gesturing in wide sweeps. He holds the phone to his ear for a moment, and then swings it out so he can scowl at it while he yells into the receiver, as though it were a microphone.

His gestures remind me of a hellfire preacher at the pulpit. I can see he isn’t actually angry, not anymore. He’s simply enjoying the gestures that accompany refined rage. He is flawless, infuriated, and somehow harmless. He could be a lovely actor, I think, and then retrieve Hank’s pacifier from the floor.

Holiday Gift Guide is up at Mighty Goods. Next week, the budget gift guide. Honey? I want a Neptune Watch. And a Giga Ball.

I open a package of sour cream and the foil beneath the lid reads, “Hugs are like smiles, the more you give the more you get.”

And then I ate a carrot stick.

I may need to make this into a flip book.

Rachel: The size charts are weird.
Me: I’m usually a B, but I’m probably a C right now.
Bryan: Are you guys talking about boobs?
Me: No. We’re talking about pantyhose.
Bryan: Oh. Talk about boobs instead.
Me: Boobs, boobs, boobs. I love boobs. Boobs.
Rachel: I have two of them.
Bryan: You guys suck at this.
Rachel: Maggie has boobs.
Bryan: Warmer.
Maggie: Rachel also has boobs.
Rachel: Bryan and Ryan do not have boobs.
Me: But what they lack in boobs, they make up for in charm.
Bryan: Forget it.
Ryan: I’m gettin’ hot.