I'm So Into You, It's Not Even

I Mean, Like Most Guys, You Carry Around This Girl In Your Head, Who Is Exactly Who You Want Her To Be. The Person You Think You Will Love The Most. And Every Girl You Are With Gets Measured Against This Girl In Your Head.

She Told Me If I Clean All The Ashes Out Of The Grate, Then I’ll Be Able To Help My Sisters Get Ready For The Bal.” “it’s Christmas, Dashiel. Can’t You Give That Atitude A Rest?” “merry Christmas, Dad. And Thanks For The Presents.” “what Presents?” “i’m Sorry—those Were All From Mom, Weren’t They?

Somewhere Between A Friend And Acquaintance—a Frequaintance, As It Were.

Well What's In Your Amazonian Hope Chest?

Prayer Or Not, I Want To Believe That, Despite All Evidence To The Contrary, It Is Possible For Anyone To Find That One Special Person. That Person To Spend Christmas With Or Grow Old With Or Just To Take A Nice Silly Walk In Central Park With. Somebody Who Wouldn't Judge Another For The Prepositions They Dangle, Or Their Run-on Sentences, And Who In Turn Wouldn't Be Judged For The Snobbery Of Their Language Etymology Inclinations.