If you want strangers to like you, wear pigtails or polka dots. But don’t wear both. You can’t handle the onslaught of admirers.
 One of my yoga teachers, refers to our body parts without a possessive pronoun. “Touch hip.” Instead of touch your hip. “Wiggle fingers.” Instead of wiggle your fingers.
I love that idea of detaching, of not owning anything. Not my aching jaw. Not my broken heart. Literary Mama just went on-line and here's the poem of mine they published. How fun and what a great pub!
http://www.literarymama.com/poetry/archives/2016/09/an-army-of-one.html  Because I own two small businesses, work is wherever I am. That can be good and bad. On a busy day, I get no break. On a less hectic day, I pretend I’m someone I’m not.
When my son was young, I pretended I was a stay-at-home mom, eating my breakfast at the office so I could leave early for after-school pick-up. At nearly 60, I leave early and pretend I’m retired.  Next to my chair, at my desk, in my car. Glass, plastic, styrene. With integrated straws, rubber grips and gravity-free flip-tops. Water bottles are everywhere I am.
So this is the last one I’m buying. With all its buttons, levers, latches and pulleys, it’s practically a water machine. Except now I need a new car. The cup holder is too small to hold it.  I know scentless cleaning solutions are healthier for our lungs and planet. But after I scrub and soak and wax, I miss the scented evidence of my labor.
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