My Frenemy's Husband

I saw him at a party for "Zootopia 2." Our kids were involved. My frenemy's husband made no indication that he had been reading my autobiographical essays.

My frenemy's husband works in real estate--but he wants to abandon that world in favor of a political career. He posts many angry short films about Trump and about ICE--I can tell that these gestures are gratifying for him. He met my husband for coffee--and for a chance to discuss how he can really make a difference--and my husband listened in a polite way. This makes me think of a favorite scene from a Lorrie Moore story. An undergrad, wearing a large leather bow, visits a history professor. "I just want my major to mean something," she says.

And the professor says, "That's your FIRST problem. Have a great afternoon." The professor adds, "I really love your bow."

I understand the issue of career fatigue. I'm grateful not to work in real estate. Even tutoring--which has the obvious impact of helping teens--can feel repetitive. There is sometimes an inner voice that says, "Whether or not this teen understands Pythagoras, the planet will keep spinning." So, in other words, I *feel* for my frenemy's husband.

At long last, the doors to the YMCA were thrown open. We all filed in--so we could endure several cheerful scenes from "Zootopia 2."

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