Really, Lady Who Edits the AOL home page? Or Truly Sinister Man Who Has the Job of Picking Stories that Terrify Parents? Would you let me check my email in peace? (If you don't know what I'm talking about, because you're all hip with your gmail account, please read my post from two days ago.)
A headline like this is a Proustian madeleine for me. Don't take me there. I have long believed that bounce houses are instruments of torture. Once at a nursery school fundraiser, the bounce house came unplugged and started deflating while Violet was inside. I lunged at the thing and pulled her out by the feet, with visions of her suffocating to death if I didn't extricate her in time. Bounce houses are writhing masses of screaming toddlers knocking heads and developing goose eggs.
I'm a lot of fun.
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