Latin is dead, Latin is useless.

Today.

Like when the vending machine won't take your dollar, even when you slide it back and forth back and forth over the corner. 

Like when you can't reach the ticket from that little box when you pull into the parking garage and the cars start lining up behind you in the street. 

Like when you start going too fast on the stationary bike in the gym and your momentum gets out of control and you hit your knee on the handlebar. 

Like when you're trying to open the passenger's side of a car and you get in a rhythm of pulling on the door handle and the driver gets in the same rhythm of hitting the unlock button so you're constantly locked out.  

Like when you want to close the blinds so you pull the cord but only one side falls down and they rub against each other to make that grating scratchy sound. 

Like when you use the bathroom between classes and don't realize the back of your shirt is tucked in until the end of the day. 

Like gossiping with someone about a mutual friend and mistakenly texting the person you're talking about. 

Like thinking about soda just before you take a sip of water and being disgusted by the confusing sip in your mouth.  

Like finding a hair in your pasta at the bottom of the bowl.  

Like losing your 90-day return policy receipt until day 93.

Like spending $150 on tennis shoes and hating them. 

Like losing your earring back.

Like a hangnail.

Like latin.

Today.

Forever for Best.

When you're five, and he leaves you waiting on the doorstep for an entire saturday afternoon wasting away the sunshine, she is your best.  She holds you close and holds you tight, and let's you blame her for his screw-up. 

When you're nine, and he buys you a see-through pageant dress from Walmart for a halloween costume, she is your best.  She spends her Saturday making you that butterfly outfit with glue and sequins and felt, and love. 

When you're thirteen, and every other little girl has a daddy to videotape her school programs and pick her up from speech practice and kill the spiders she traps under cups, she is your best. She teaches all day, and makes your school lunch, and watches every performance and works at the church and puts herself last and plays his role too.

When you're sixteen, and he buys you a car that you wreck 3 times and he never shows up to deal with the police, she is your best. She pays the bills and loves you anyway and sits in the passenger's seat putting her own life at stake so you can learn, and learn, and re-learn. 

When you're 18, and you're going to Ecuador, and he offers no money except to buy you 60 orange and green glow-sticks, she is your best. She scrimps and saves and scrapes together funds, finds you the fancy water bottle, picks you up from the airport and supports you all the way.  

When you've never had him there to teach you to fly a kite, or ride a bike, to scare your boyfriends or move you into your college dorm, she is your best.  She does it all, and more than that.  She's patient and loving and constantly forgives.  Because of her you know how to be a lady and what it means to love the Lord.  She deals with your attitude and listens to your worries.  She gets nervous when you travel and makes you repeat your schedule twelve times so she can understand and supports you no matter how dysfunctional you get.  

Days you love her, nights you think you hate her, even times you fail her.... 

she is your best. 

Zippers that extend from the top, all the way down to the bottom of a dress back are. not. fashionable.  They do not make you seem alluring or mysterious.  They don't draw the eye to a flattering area of the body.  In no way do they say, 'I'm a lady out for a night of good clean fun.' They are brash, awkward, and could easily lead to an accidental mooning situation.  That zipper dress does not say classy cocktail. It says, hi, I'm a hooker.