Pancakes Taste Like Poverty: And Other Post-Divorce Revelations - Plot & Excerpts
I'm moved into a three bedroom house, sight unseen. My totally dope mom checked it out for me and handled all the business end. Transactions are still practically spit-handshakes in Mobile. The landlords liked her so they, by default, like me and my three kids. My mom is good PR. Kelley called me the morning of the move because she had something for me. It was mattresses. She just gave me three mattresses. She said a friend of hers was getting rid of them and she knew I could use them. Who does that? I don't think I've ever experienced kindness and sistership like the kind I got from Kelley. I don't know if I will ever be in a position to pay her back for her unconditional love. She just saw me. She just saw me and gave me help. Like Bridget. I can't move away and fail. If I can't pay them back, I at least owe them my functionality. As for my ex, he was astoundingly supportive. He insisted on helping us move because it'd be better for the kids to see their Dad as part of the process rather than us “leaving Dad behind.”
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