By Cranston The Cat

“I’m quitting,” my freshly divorced friend ceremoniously announced. “That’s it! I’m going to pull out of this silly race while I still have a scintilla of self-esteem intact.”

“No you’re not,” I retorted. “Quitting is not permitted. You’re just having a bad day. You’re blood sugar’s low. You’re hormonal. Go have a double cappuccino or a gargantuan Coke-Slurpee” (my fix for everything lately.) “You have to be patient,” I then offered more gently -”not set these impossible deadlines for finding someone. It doesn’t work that way.”
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