Mo asks exactly how the pick and roll works. (Mo doesn’t watch basketball much. OK, any.) “So I would just have to get between you and Hazel as you go by?” I suggest an elbow check. I am not confident she will cooperate.
It’s another Sunday trying to make it into church without getting the Hazel Hug. The moment I’ve been dreading for weeks.
We enter. I prepare for my demise. And then.
Hazel is facing away from me, chatting with another 120-year-old woman.
I am deprived.
Suddenly, I want a hug. Is she purposely snubbing me? Was it something I said? Do 120-year-olds have Internet access?
I consider lining up and waiting my turn, but Mo is tired and wants to get inside so she can go to sleep.
Today’s talk was about spreading the word or Nutella or penguins or something. But that’s not really what I needed.
What I really needed was a hug.
Maybe next week, Hazel?