I spent most of yesterday afternoon in my kitchen. We were having people over for dinner last night, and so I dug out my tita’s recipe for spaghetti and meatballs and got to work. Making meatballs from scratch is fun, in its way, if you don’t mind meat. (I’ll probably share the recipe for those at some point. I don’t think my grandmother would have minded.)

And then I baked scones, because more friends are coming over this afternoon for tea. (I should probably share that recipe with you, too. Soon.)

Anyway, at some point between putting the meatballs in the refrigerator and taking out the ingredients for the scones, I realized I didn’t have any heavy whipping cream (necessary for scones), or fresh basil (for the other people eating spaghetti — I don’t eat it because I’m allergic, which means I often forget to buy it). So off to the market I went. Since I had so few items, I popped into the express checkout line.

There were several people behind me and I wanted everything to go quickly so as not to hold up the line. I also wanted to get home to make the scones and have them out of the oven before I had to pick up my daughter from school. (She’s attending an art school for these last few weeks of the summer.)

Since the woman in line behind me had already loaded a bunch of items onto the conveyor belt and was practically standing on the hem of my skirt, I knew she was probably in a hurry, too. So when my purchase came to $4.35, I whipped out my debit card to make things go faster. As I turned away with my bag of groceries in hand, I heard her remark to the man checking us out, “Well, I’ve never seen anyone use a debit card for under $5.00 before!” as if that were something worth commenting on. He agreed. I didn’t turn around but just kept walking. And while I know something like that shouldn’t bug me, it kind of did.

It’s not like I live in a small town where everyone knows everyone else’s business, and yet on a routine basis we encounter people who feel the need to remark on everything that isn’t, in fact, their business. I chose not to say anything, but there were several things I could have retorted, such as:

• “It would take too long to break a hundred, and I didn’t want to hold up the line.”
• “I haven’t been to an ATM machine yet this week.”
• “If I use a debit card, there will be a record of my having been here, in case something untoward happens to me before I get home.”
• “I’m hoarding all my cash for when the revolution comes.”
• “Nice tank top. I didn’t think people still bedazzled their clothes, but hey, you do you.”

Gah. Most of that stuff wouldn’t have been true, even though it might have been snappy enough to be entertaining.

I’ve been trying to stay off social media a little bit, since every time I get on there I find at least a few posts in my news feed from people whom I respect and like but who have to post every thought as if they were the first ones to think of it, or as if the angry, incendiary things they’re popping off in the depths of their own emotional maelstroms might not actually spark some negative consequences. It’s exhausting.

And honestly, I get it. It’s easy to be frustrated and angry right now. It’s also exciting to have new thoughts (new to oneself, at least). Maybe this is the only way they can stand to interact with the world. And I also fully realize how ironic even this post is, because I’m essentially doing the same thing. But gah. I’m trying to find a happy medium, and it eludes me. This means I end up not posting much, because my serious writing time is going to my new book of poems (which I cannot wait to tell you more about — very soon) and my new novel (which is coming along, albeit slowly at the moment). Le sigh. If you have advice about how to handle this whole social media thing in this moment in our cultural history, I’m interested.

So here’s another question for you: what is the most ridiculous thing a stranger has ever commented to or at or toward you, and what response do you wish you had given? I’m creating a safe space here for you to vent for a moment. Feel free to make us laugh, because laughter is the best medicine.

To tide you over while you think about what you want to get off your chest and purge from your system, please enjoy this gorgeous self-portrait my Orange Belt Fairy Princess Badass made this week (after two classes).