Sign I am very much immersed in Jim's book: After a great swim at the YMCA on a hot day, the vending machine fails to dispense a pack of Swedish fish. After I pound (lightly) on the glass, Charlie does the same. "Come on, machine, give it up!" I say. And pound more.
"You're breaking it," says the woman at the reception desk with a certain rise in her voice. She had been tut-tut-tutting about the imminent closing of this YMCA branch to two mothers.
"Swedish fish," says Charlie, looking longingly through the glass door.
"Yeah, there's one way to make it work," I say. I smooth out another dollar bill and insert it. Down falls the original pack of Swedish fish, followed by (not wanted, from a dentist's perspective) pack #2. I show Charlie where to push in the metal door and he pulls out the two packs. And walks to the car with a big smile, having gotten two for the price of two.
As I back out the black car, I realize that I was actually on the verge of telling the poor vending machine "C'mon already, cough it up!".
(That machine shoulda been feeling lucky it was just me. No Mr. Big am I, just a once and former warrior mom.)