You might find this to be cause for celebration. I find it cause for anxiety. Maybe that's because I'm jewish. And therefore neurotic.
When I read the congratulatory e mail last night, shell-shocked, I made my way into the kitchen to tend to some Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie, and took a seat among Tashina, Tanya, and Brandy. As I sat, Tanya was in the midst of doing the catch-up-thing with Brandy. The usual: How are you? How's the job? How's your sisters baby? Ooops wrong sister. To the Usual (for our little house in the bay area): Are you still in therapy?
As it turns out, all of us have been to therapy. Tanya chuckled with a hand tossed onto her forehead "Jews love therapy. They love it." I agreed, and she went on to share intimate details about why she started going like pieces of candy getting tossed from the side of a fire truck during a 4th of July parade.
