Seven Outfits for Sasquatch Legs
I pulled my legs into a criss-cross-applesauce position to us both exploding at the sight of each other’s knee beards.
I pulled my legs into a criss-cross-applesauce position to us both exploding at the sight of each other’s knee beards.
It’s a bit less about you, and a bit more about everyone else—and that feels good.
I do not, in life in general, scream—not on roller coasters, not in pain, not when Wet Leg encouraged the crowd to unleash bloodcurdling cries—but when Harry was on stage, I couldn’t hold back.
No wonder my eyes sting when I go outside; the air’s full of tiny demonic scorpions.
Somewhere along the way, I have become a jam-making fiend.
Every spring, the flowers unrobed themselves from their long green stalks, like indigo flags declaring the end of the winter—and their own ability to survive it.
Maybe scrapbooking is my true calling.
How did we find it? Where exactly did this core memory take place?
Our family has been talking a lot about tradition these days.
And, no great loss, I didn’t think about The Masked Singer once.