Attitude

This is how bad things are—yesterday, the dentist apologized for upsetting me. She’s a White Sox fan whose family shares season tickets with a group of people. Between pokes to my gums, we talked about the state of the team. My voice must’ve gone up with each poke, or change of subject, from Mickey Mouse to John Schriffen to a new stadium in the South Loop; like me, she doesn’t see how Sox fans used to driving to the game will all of a sudden jump on public transit, assuming they can even find it in the suburbs. I may have lost it by the time we got around to discussing Garrett Crochet. No cavities, though. Later in the day, I picked up Michele from the train, and we went over to Clare’s for dinner. It was Home Run Derby, and my daughter insists on watching every year. Her pick was Pete Alonso, but his heart didn’t seem into it. Leo kept shouting, “Homerun, White Sox!” I wish.