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A Filthy Home Isn’t The Flex You Think It Is
“Get ready for my CPS visit!” — actual words spoken by a human.
Possibly the biggest mistake I’ve made this year is downloading TikTok. For years I avoided the app because it seemed chaotic and unhinged. I don’t believe in broadcasting every moment of one’s life online because I’ve learned, albeit painfully, that sometimes it’s best to put down the phone. Our phones are a tool — not an appendage or a lifeline. And while we laugh and guffaw over the influencers who lie or the drama that invariably gets someone cancelled, rarely do we consider innocent people are collateral damage. That children could bear the weight of their parent’s humiliation.
Years ago, I traveled to Russia for a writing retreat. Picture dozens of writers roaming the streets of St. Petersburg getting shaken down by gypsies while copping bootleg cds. We went during white nights when the sun never set and the persistent light was exhausting. Delirious, we woke one day and decided that it was time to visit the “dead baby museum” because how could it be? How is it possible that people would devote an entire room to malformed infants and biological oddities?
Believe me when I say, it’s possible. I went to the museum with three burly guys. Men who drank bear. Men who towered over me. Yet after our visit we drank…
