The Theory of Relativity

I sat in the sterile waiting room, clutching an unopened issue of Popular Mechanics, dread seeping in from all sides. And when the technician approached with his obligatory dingy clipboard, I knew my worst fears had been realized.

"Your vehicle failed the smog," he said, dispassionate enough to border on indifference.

This had never actually happened to me, and I stared at him blankly for a minute, trying to process exactly what he might mean by that.

The Incredible Shrinking Woman

Almost every Sunday, I sit in the 4th pew from the altar at the 1:15 Spanish mass. It's not an ideal spot, since the vent for the air conditioner is perched directly above us, leaving us stunted with cold, and shafts of sunlight pierce the slanted windowpanes at a cruel angle. But that's where my mother insists that we sit. She wants to get a good seat, like it's a production of Hamilton.