
by Paula Gail Benson
On December 28, I returned to work, hoping to hide out in the holiday-hollowed halls of academia. No such luck. The first of the three dastardly “Ds” in my life, my ex-wife and fellow faculty member, Daphne, anticipated my strategy and beat me there. She stopped me as I reached my office door to ask if I’d decided on the song I wanted.

by Paula Gail Benson
“Remember, to be an Eve on New Year’s Eve is truly special. Even if you don’t have a date for my party.”
Eve had been listening to Charlotte on her hands-free phone as she drove to the spa. She made a mental note: in the future only take Charlotte’s calls on a land line, one equipped with a heavy receiver Eve could slam into its base.

by Paula Gail Benson
I had put it off as long as I could. To finish my retirement paperwork required either my Social Security card, which was packed away somewhere, probably in a box in the attic, or evidence I had applied for a replacement. When I was employed thirty years ago, I didn’t have to show the card, but now, after all that time working and paying taxes with the number, my employer needed proof it belonged to me.

by Paula Gail Benson
This Thanksgiving, I promised my family I would be a different person. From the moment I woke on Thanksgiving Day until–well, until–I agreed to be the new and improved me. If I failed, I would not be trusted again, and next year, I could be the sacrifice.