The life of a writer, wife, mother and rapidly aging goddess
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Not Too Late
A mother and youngest son, residing somewhere in Sherman Oaks:
"What's your E.T.A.?"
"E.T. what?"
"Estimated time of arrival."
"Not too late."
"Can you be more specific?"
"Not too late."
"Not too late isn't a time."
"Not too late o'clock."
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