I file the bathtub birthers to Moira at 11:12; she gives it a once-over and schedules it to go live at 1 PM, which is the blog equivalent of prime time. We get the most readers at lunchtime, when girls in offices all over the East Coast eat their sad desk salads and force down bites of desiccated chicken breasts while scrolling through our latest posts. We get another traffic bump around four, when our West Coast counterparts eat their greens with low-fat dressing.
Even though I no longer work at an office, I run out to get my own version of sad desk salad. There’s nothing in the fridge except a half-empty container of milk and some congealed Thai food from three nights before. I throw on the same black muumuu that I have worn this summer so far – I don’t bother to put on a bra – and scurry across the street. It’s a clear July morning. The sun is so bright I need to hold up a hand to shade my eyes.