When the car backs out the driveway,
the tires crunching across the frigid, unshoveled driveway,
and the squeaking rattling gears and rollers of the electric garage door,
are muted by the steady churning of the dishwasher here in the kitchen.

The puppy at the window, watching,
manages to top off the noise with pathetic whines dueting
with a gutteral growl that sounds too old and bitter for his young body,
so i lean down and pet him and say, it's all right. everything is all right.

Now you know, don't you?  I am
a grownup, a really socially graceful, nuanced and delicate
grownup who knows how to say its all right in a way that sounds
deliciously convincing. in other words i am an expert liar.

the funny thing about becoming a
self-aware grownup? is that there are these whispers in your
head that tell the truth even when you're perfectly managing the
delicate art of telling the lie that proves you to be nothing close to what you hope to be.

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