“What was that supposed to be?” My husband often asks the question in a playful manner. Playful, because he knows exactly what it is.
“What was that move?” I’m teasingly asked the question at work.
Curious strangers avert their gaze and say nothing. I wonder if they are making silent judgments.
So, what is it?
It’s my inability to walk a straight line. I tend to veer right. I lose my balance. I lose my rhythm. I need a wide berth to accommodate my arms, which occasionally fly out to...