See Also: In This Way, Childbirth is Like KFC

Today was like Kentucky Fried Chicken. Or glitter nail polish. You know, it seems like a good idea before you actually do it, cause damn those biscuits are good. The way that glitter nail polish looks so disco, as if your fingers were out all night somewhere so cool the rest of you couldn't get past the doorman. And then it begins to chip, or maybe you're two biscuits in and boooof, the butter and the honey, something doesn't feel so good, maybe some cole slaw will right things, but no, oh god no, and regular old nail polish never removes the glitter, you know that now, right? Instead you have to pick at it with your fingers for days, and you vow to never again eat Kentucky Fried Chicken, and you don't. At least not for a few years anyway, until one day you forget, and you smell the biscuits from across the street and think god, when was the last time?...

All that to say that today I did not eat KFC or paint my nails, but worse. I went to Chinatown with my mom, Zoey and Ozzy. It had been 3 years since my last visit, and really I only went again because Zoey could no longer squeeze into her silk pajamas. So we loaded ourselves into the car and drove and parked and walked and smelled and smiled tightly, the people, there were so many people, me with the stroller and my mom beginning to feel dizzy. I need to sit down, she said, I need to feed Ozzy, I said, and we pushed and shuffled, my hand tightly holding Zoey's, ducks hanging from bent necks in store windows piled high with dried lotus root and salted turnips, pushed through the people pushing past us, a man blowing his nose into the gutter as I very nearly pushed Ozzy's stroller into the stream of snot. Let's never do this again, I said to my mom later when we finally got back to the car. Agreed, she said. Three years from now, if one of us says hey, let's take the kids to Chinatown, the other one has to remember what a terrible idea it is and say no. And we promised we would, except we won't because biscuits always smell heavenly from across the street, and then there's this:
And even though Ozzy didn't get any pajamas of his own (mostly because the kerosene smell of the fabric scares me just a little), here is a photo of him from last weekend, just because.
Also just because?...When was the last time you had KFC?