I write about relationships. The funny. The sad. The downright absurd. Life, really . . .
Communal Kitchen Crimes
Petra hunched over her quinoa salad and watched them closely; the first of the eaters. There was a microwave pasta, yoghurt from the fridge, and a toasted sandwich. So far, there had been no indiscretions.
Love in the Time of Landlines
Jacob ran his finger around the rotary dial for eight clicks. The last digit in her phone number. The magic figure that would connect him to her voice.
The Overzealous Dads Debacle
I’m confident that if this was a real game, we could totally take them out. Sienna’s dad is limping slightly, Lucy’s dad looks like the last time he played soccer, they filmed it in soundless black and white, and I’m pretty sure Megan’s old man hasn’t been to bed. Unless he always wears his shirt unbuttoned to his navel, which isn’t out of the question given he works in advertising.
A Fickle Fortune
Something’s not right. Why is there a camera crew here? I slow my approach and narrow my eyes. A quick scan of the area reveals that everything else seems to be in place. The cashiers are scanning and bagging items like they do day in, day out. There’s a soda can pyramid advertising discount cola next to a complex, ten-foot toilet paper structure that, while impressive, makes me wonder how anyone could grab a pack without causing the entire tower to collapse, Jenga-style.
The Book of Regrets
They’ll want to hear about the drugs. And the affairs. Probably even the stealing. How much entertainment? How many regrets?
It’s the most magnificent beard I’ve ever seen. In fact, to call it a mere beard is a travesty. Beautifully developed, expertly shaped, and lovingly manicured, it’s like a piece of art that’s actually worth paying for.
“This is much more civilized than a meeting room, don’t you think?” he says. No, I don’t, actually. I would much prefer the safety of a poorly ventilated room that has a defined escape route; namely, the end of the meeting. But because I’m having lunch with a member of the executive leadership team, I do what you should always do when answering a question from someone with his own car park.
I’m pretty sure she just leaped onto the table. I can feel her creeping up with the soft paws of a leopard just before it disembowels you. It’s unconventional and disconcerting, but I remain silent and stoic, primarily because I’m lying stomach-down with my face jammed into a gap the size of an iPhone. And I’m not wearing a shirt.