I love my Airpods but the people I talk to while I’m using them do not; apparently they magnify all sounds that are not me. This makes no sense. I’ll be talking to Abby, and she’ll ask, “Did an airplane just land on you?” And I’ll say: “No, but a tree gently swayed in the distance.”
“Did you just kill a mongoose?”
“I was folding a napkin.”
“Are you engaged in swordplay?”
“I dropped a cashew.”
So I’m sure it’s annoying for them, but counterpoint: it’s awfully convenient for me. As long as I remain perfectly still. (Once I tried to unload the dishwasher while talking to Abby and she almost called 911.)

Summer, summer, summertime

It’s summer, which means my brain has turned to guacamole. I always have these big goals for summer: read every book! Write 15 novels! Become Banksy! And then the humidity climbs above 67% and my IQ plummets. I can’t think clearly when it’s hot and humid. My mother and sister are both nuts for humidity. Seriously, ask them about it. There’s nothing they love more. They definitely love humidity more than they love me—no question.