"Why don't you write something funny?" said my husband, as if humor grows on trees.
"Why don’t you?" I said, and he stared at me with a funny look, like I had just said, “What are you fixing for dinner?” It's the same look he gives me when I can’t find my special place, you know, the one where you put stuff so you don’t forget it? Although mine keeps moving like opinions on election day.
Every special place appears to be the perfect place at the time, a place I’ll never forget, a place logical and obvious, until I look for it. I’m sure I’ll find everything one day, even myself, and it will be in a very special place.