I sit down at my desk, proud of myself for getting this close to being productive, then I nearly spew my organic, fair trade tea. The email on my screen blasts: “Free Yourself From Single-Use Plastic in July.”
Is this some kind of sick joke, Earth911?
One of the singular joys of getting older (or not) is the sudden accumulation of cheery white-hatted, amber-orange pill bottles. What used to make a rare appearance, one bottle here or there, after a dental surgery, say, now piles up like candy wrappers on Halloween night.