And To Know Me, As

Now, Now," My Father Said. "let's Just Get The Bags." This Was Typical. My Father, The Lone Male In Our Estrogen-heavy Household, Had Always Dealt With Any Kind Of Emotional Situation Or Conflict By Doing Something Concrete And Specific. Discussion Of Cramps And Heavy Flow At The Breakfast Table? He Was Up And Out The Door To Change Oil On One Of Our Cars. Coming Home In Tears For Reasons You Just Didn't Want To Discuss? He'd Go Make You A Grilled Cheese, Which He'd Probably End Up Eating. Family Crisis Brewing In A Public Place? Bags. Get The Bags.

The Choices You Make Now, The People You Surround Yourself With, They All Have The Potential To Affect Your Life, Even Who You Are, Forever.

But You Could Also Look At It The Other Way. Like You’re Saying No Matter How Bad Things Are For You, I Can Still Relate.

I Like Flaws. I Think They Make Things Interesting.

Morgan Sighed. "i," She Announced, "am So Pathetic." "you Are Not," I Said. "i Am." She Went Over And Straightened The Cling Wrap, Corner To Corner. "do You Know How Many Times I've Brought In Devilled Eggs? This Is, Like, The Only Time I Haven't Been Sobbing And That's Only 'cause I Cried All Night. And Norman," She Said, Her Voice Rising To A Wail, "sweet Norman, Always Just Acts So Surprised To See The Eggs, And Pleased, And He Never, Once, Has Ever Acted Like He Knew What They Meant."