Note to My Mother-in-Law Outlining Protocol for Babysitting My Son for the First Time
I should never have attempted that aerobic workout to the soundtrack of The Mormon Tabernacle Choir’s Greatest Hits.
Pretend not to notice that I’m so bloated it looks as if my butt has crawled around to the front side of my body and taken residence in my gut.
Say “fetch” or “frigg” or “frick” because you don’t want God to hear you say “fuck.” At this point I’m pretty sure God thinks you’re a fucking idiot.
For introducing peanut butter and banana sandwiches into my marriage.
Gillian Welch: Soul Journey
So I’m standing there in the kitchen totally craving something sweet after a lunch of leftover spaghetti (which didn’t even make a dent in the amount still left in the gigantic Pyrex container in the fridge — I’m fully incapable of making pasta for two people, or for five or ten; it always comes out [...]