Potty

I happened at one of my son’s High School Football Games. I was the typical soccer mom, chauffeuring my son around after school – to the games, to the Dentist – to the Library – any place where he couldn’t walk, or ride his bike to. My husband Ralph worked in the City, and usually didn’t get home for dinner until after six – mostly closer to seven, when the commute was congested. We lived in the suburbs – one of the many bedroom communities that sprang up around the City to house the growing population of white-collar workers that had been drawn to the city by the growing computer revolution. ...