Last week, my husband accused me of being a “critic.” It was one of the nicest things he’s ever said to me.

“That’s what you are,” he told me, after reading my last column. “You’re a social critic. That’s what you do.” I felt myself blushing like a schoolgirl who’d just been asked to the prom. I’d never really thought of myself – or my column – in quite those terms before, but I liked it. It felt right. Social Critic. Huh.

By now, you probably know that Panini’s restaurant was robbed last week. It happened sometime after the Crave Cupcake Boutique break-in, but before the Domino’s Pizza heist. (I know, I know… What’s the world coming to?)

I learned of the Panini’s robbery when I saw a shocking picture of their shattered back door – along with a short report of the incident – on Facebook. Upset, I promptly shared the picture on my own FB page, with the simple comment, “Wow.”

It’s about 8:20 on a Tuesday morning as I inch my car forward in the drop-off line at my daughter’s school. It’s a long line this morning, and I watch the children emerge from the cars, one by one, with a growing sense of dread. They look like typical fifth graders – fresh faces, tidy school uniforms, clean and scrubbed, hair neatly combed.

I feel sick.