Ginger: Ruby? Are you home? You will not believe how awful my day has been!
Ruby: Okay, before you even start, here are all my complaints so you can base your day off my complaints.
Ginger: Fire away.
Ruby: I have a nasty paper cut on my thumb, my toe is really sore so I’ve been limping all day and my nose is running because I think I’m coming down with my niece’s cold. Also, I realized an hour after it was too late to do anything that I missed a meeting.
Ginger: Why is your toe sore?
Ruby: I ran out of kleenex in the middle of the night, got out of bed to get something so that my sniffling didn’t wake my darling husband and then stubbed my toe against the chair that my darling husband left in the middle of the floor after he changed a lightbulb in the fixture above our bed.
Ginger: That sounds awful.
Ruby: Yes. That has been my day.
Ginger: My day was just awful, too.
Ruby: Really? How awful?
Ginger: Well…I…didn’t sleep very well last night. And I realized at lunch that I missed two TV shows last week that I didn’t remember were on.
Ruby: Yeah. I slept just fine after the toe-stubbing incident. Of course, my toe still HURT, but it wasn’t that bad until I got up this morning. Can you hand me that box of tissues behind you?
Ginger: Sure. How was it getting to see your nieces?
Ruby: They are so cute! The older one sings a song about the months of the year. When she gets to the month you were born in, you’re supposed to raise your hand. But she sings it so fast, I barely remembered to get my hand up and then it looked like I was saying I was born in July or something.
Ginger: To be fair, March is only one syllable. You really should have thought this through when you were still in your mother’s womb and just come out early in February.
Ruby: And be a preemie?
Ginger: Don’t think I haven’t noticed your jealousy over the years.
Ruby: For the last time, I have met your mother. You were not premature – the doctor just couldn’t count.
Ginger: My due date was in late November. I came out in early October. ‘Nuff said. And all but one of my Godchildren were early-birds, too.
Ruby: You…are you still counting your niece as an early-bird?
Ginger: One day preemie. I think it counts…
Ruby: It doesn’t count.
Ginger: You don’t know. You’re not in her generation. Her generation is all about the Twitterbooks and Facepage website thingamabobs. I’m going to be cool…or hip…or the cat’s pajamas or whatever the kids will be saying by the time my niece actually catches on to real lingo and stops making up her own.
Ruby: Gee, I wonder where she gets that from…
Ginger: I couldn’t even begin to speculate. I asked my nephew if I’m cool.
Ruby: Did he laugh in your face?
Ginger: Not…exactly. He sort of looked at me, went “heh” and then went back to whatever it was he was doing in the first place.
Ruby: Children do not realize that as much as they’re seeking our approval, we’re also seeking theirs.
Ginger: So, wait, this can all be remedied as soon as I tell him he’s cool only if I’m cool?
Ruby: …my toe hurts.
Ginger: Distracting me with injuries sustained in the night won’t work this time.
Ruby: Did you see my really awful paper cut?
Ginger: Oh, wow! You really did a number!
Ruby: I knew I’d find a suitable distraction soon enough…
Ruby: Nothing. Ow. Thumb. The pain. The agony. Ow. Oh. Ow. Ow.