Yesterday, my ex-boyfriend Michael came over to drop off a wedding present, a set of delicate colored martini glasses that balance on narrow bases. As it was also his birthday, Rob and I offered him some homemade ice cream.

“We should serve it in these lovely glasses,” I suggested to Rob. He scooped the ice cream into the glasses, balanced them on the accompanying tray, and brought it out of the kitchen. He actually made it into the living room before the glasses tipped over on their precarious bases; one fell off the tray and shattered on the floor right at Michael’s feet.

“Well,” he said. “Now you can’t re-gift it.”

*

Last week, I planned to go to New York City for an afternoon. I had my last appointment with my therapist, and then Rob (who was already there, teaching) and I were going to meet to look at apartments.

Except that the train was over an hour late, and by the time I got to the therapist, I only had about ten minutes left of my appointment. And the real estate agent never called me back (I had given very short notice), so we had no apartment viewings lined up.

So I immediately got back on the train and returned to Maryland.

Sometimes I worry that I’m becoming just like everybody else, but I now hold the distinction of being the only person in the history of the universe who traveled from Baltimore to New York for ten minutes of therapy and a cup of green tea from Starbucks.

I suppose that's something.