I read the other day that it takes the average teenager less than five seconds to write and send a text message. I can’t tie my shoes that fast or make a list of words that my english teacher would deem sophisticated. It takes at least forty seconds for me to realize my alarm is going off in the morning and another one hundred thirty eight to open my eyes. It only takes five seconds to send a text message. You could have probably written “I love you” in the time it took him to unbutton his shirt.
Do you think the manufacturers of paint bottles consider themselves artists? And if I drew on my legs with marker and laid in the sun, could you find depth in my tan lines? I wonder if women know the exact point that they become a mother and I wonder if mothers know the moment they become a disappointment. I don’t understand why people cut the sleeves off of shirts. How much sugar do you add to a strawberry before it becomes dessert? When did we become strangers? How far can someone crawl before their pants tear into shorts? I want to learn to recognize when something becomes something it isn’t.