I’d planned to do it. I really had. Every evening, I’d promised myself to sit down and do it. But something always distracted me

“Mrs. Bloomberg?”

Arrgh. I was hoping to sneak into the school office without anyone noticing me. All I need is a box of staples from the supply closet. But the secretary, Mrs. Gold, spies me.

I need to get hold of an invisibility cloak so I can avoid all the people I promised I’d get back to and never did. Like my neighbor who asked me to RSVP to her son’s bar mitzvah three times already. And like Mrs. Gold, who’s waiting for me to return an evaluation.

Mrs. Gold is standing next to the photocopier, and I watch as the machine spits out sheet after sheet of paper. “The Brodsky girl’s evaluation forms?” Mrs. Gold says gently.

I’d planned to do it. I really had. Every evening, I’d promised myself to sit down and do it. But something always distracted me: the baby woke up, my husband came home, the washing machine finished.

“Umm, umm,” I stuttered.

Mrs. Gold is a tzadeikes. I need her to move inside my head, so instead of hearing myself say, Seriously, Rochie, you really need to get it together! I’d hear her say, You’re a busy, working mommy, Mrs. Bloomberg. I’m going to print you out another copy and you’re going to sit down now at my desk and fill them out. And you’re not getting up until it’s all done, and see her wag her finger at me playfully.

Part of me wants to buy her flowers and part of me wants to put a paper bag over my head.