I have a Shakespeare anthology that I love because my mother used it in college and then, when I went to college, I used it as well. It has both of our notes in it and I love it because I love Shakespeare and I love my mother and it represents a passion that we both share. The other night I busted it out in acting class to find the monologue that a fellow thespian was about to perform on stage. However, just at the place where my fellow thespain began her monologue was a giant black hole in my book.

"What's that?" asked my other fellow thespian who was reading over my shoulder.

I was embarrassed to tell her the story, so that is why I will share it in the broad daylight of the Internet. A few years ago a momentary infatuation brought me flowers and in a fit of insanity, I stuck a flower (because sometimes when I'm in relationship to a male, my normally highly functioning brain seems to switch to the OFF button) in my favorite Shakespeare anthology and, thus, ruined a true passion for one that proved false (insert appropriate Shakespeare quote here). The flattened flower, which I removed in a moment of disgust, left a big moldy black hole in a bunch of pages (VERY STUPID, I KNOW!). Which brings me to the moral of the story which is a) never press flowers in a book you like b) never - under any circumstances - press flowers given to you by a guy (even if he's your husband) and c) don't choose Cleopatra's "I dreamt there was an Empereror Antony..." monolouge cuz it's kinda Tiger Beat (if you know what I mean...if you don't, don't worry, it's not important)....

The point is this: few relationships will outlast Madres and Shakespeare.

Was that not a humbling story to tell?

Just for today, I can humble myself on the Internet.