Day 73

I can’t go to the grocery store without a guy asking me out. It’s not a statement of my attractiveness—just a reflection on the men in Chicago. The city is an insurance town filled with actuaries. They calculate the odds of meeting another you and immediately want to lock it down. It’s a city of current and future husbands. Ladies and gentlemen, wherever you are, if you want to meet a nice guy buying organic produce, come to Chicago. We’re tripping over them here.

One day, Constance asked for a quesadilla from Taco Bell. I had been working on her bathroom and was wearing rags but sucked it up and took her anyway. In stained holey clothes, standing with my daughter, a guy asked me what I was doing later. Um, not him. Apparently, I looked attainable to the kind of many who would hit on a woman with her daughter in stained work clothes at the Taco Bell lunch rush.

I remember and miss Constance everywhere.

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