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The year most of my high school friends and I got our driver’s permits, the coolest thing one could do was stand outside after school and twirl one’s car keys like a lifeguard whistle. That jingling sound meant freedom and power.
Ah, the power of two. There’s nothing quite like it. Especially when it comes to paying utility bills, parenting, cooking elaborate meals, purchasing a grown-up bed, jumping rope and lifting heavy machinery. The world favours pairs. Who wants to waste the wood building an ark for singletons?
A pet store is a celebration of dogs’ existence and an explosion of options. About cats, a pet store seems to say, ‘Here, we couldn’t think of anything else.’ Cats are the Hanukkah of the animal world in this way. They are feted quietly and happily by a minority, but there’s only so much hoopla applicable to them.
I like to try to do a little work before I do anything in the morning, even if it’s a paragraph.
My personality, when tasked with creating meals, goes something like this: Is there a way we can make this more difficult? Because let’s do that. I don’t mean to complicate things. It’s just – why buy pre-packaged potato salad when you can spend your morning boiling potatoes and flipping out because there’s no dill in the house?
There’s already a marriage clock, a career clock, a biological clock. Sometimes being a woman feels like standing in the lobby of a hotel, looking at the dials depicting every time zone in the world behind the front desk – except they all apply to you, and all at once.
I was diagnosed with a severe temporal spatial deficit, a learning disability that means I have zero spatial relations skills. It was official: I was a genius trapped in an idiot’s body.
I think a lot of humor is about distracting yourself. Pretend you’re not trying to make it funny. Because for some reason the effort to be funny smells like sulphur in our culture.
I hope to one day co-sign a lease with another person but, well, it doesn’t plague me that I have yet to do so. Put it this way: I’ve never had to violently tug at my own pillow at 2 A.M. to get myself to stop snoring.
The hardest thing is spending twelve hours a day accommodating the rest of the world, then going home at night and criticizing it. I would be curious about what I’d write if I didn’t have to worry about offending.