The original blog that inspired my weekly column in Connect Savannah
Last night I couldn’t bear the thought of going home to an empty house, so I biked through downtown Savannah, wailing like a birthing banshee instead. Thank goodness for the sympathetic girl on her way home from the late shift at The Mellow Mushroom who stopped to ask if everything was okay. She said that if her dog had died, she’d be crying like that, too.
When I told her that people were going to know me as The Crazy Crying Lady the way they know Angry Bubba, the guy who celebrates Sunday mornings by screaming at people’s garbage cans, she said, “Sweetie, you’d have to cry like that for at least thirty years before earning that kind of reputation.”