Functional neurological disorders, long-distance relationships, and bright-&-shiny, sunburned low-hangers — why, it must be July!
My son woke up one recent morning unable to walk. “Uh, gurl,” you say, “come again?” I’ll pause a moment here while y’all mop up your espresso martinis that just squirted out your noses.
Yes, you heard me correctly: Even Howard has progeny; albeit, not of my own loins, of course. My son is an underprivileged kid from Mexico whom I put through medical school.
Upon our initial introduction, my future son possessed exactly one pair of worn-out sneakers, some frazzled jeans and a few faded tee shirts.