Then you will be just fine with your car radio, anywhere in America. Don't stop believin'. Or thinkin' about tomorrow. Also, don't cry or raise your eye. It's only teenage wasteland.
Or maybe it was Natick. Anyway.
I just got back from Assachusetts, which is the state in which your face is six inches from your sister's naked heiner because she needs counterpressure NOW NOW NOW and women in labor, they don't like to wear pants so much. I won't tell you any more -- that's her story to tell, including sex and name of the baby, details of the birth, a full description of the pediatrician who apparently spent a night hooking for hoagie money in Manch Vegas and rolled right out of the trunk of her car (where she'd slept) and into work. It is permissible, I learned, to arrive for your job AS A PHYSICIAN wearing a rumpled white coat that hangs down several inches below the hem of your cheap-looking dress, tawdry mules that cause you to clop gingerly like an arthritic horse, and a wig that you snatched from the gutter outside the Off-Brand Barbie Hair Import Warehouse, because you felt so sorry for it, all full of leaves and covered in tire marks.
Also she had electric green colored contacts behind eyeglasses that magnified her eyes. But the wig was truly breathtaking.
So, uh, I'm back. And I remembered how much I love doing labor support. And also that I am pregnant and prone to getting very, very tired, especially after staying up for 24 hours straight.