Read by Russell Norman ❤️ It wasn’t like Dr. Stevens to spend $4.38 for coffee. Not coffee—a latte. A latte was essentially a fancy espresso with a thin layer of foamed milk. Either way, $4.38 was an egregious amount of money to spend on a beverage for a young professor with crushing student loans. A…
Tag: Comedy
Of course Missy was making a scene at the registration table. Thirty five years had not blunted Missy’s expectations that her very presence should cause red carpets to unroll and doves to be uncaged. Over her carefully coiffed blonde head read a welcome banner: “Class of ‘85 – Still Alive.” Black and gold balloons attempted…
“Hey—that looks like quite a load! Do you need any help?” It’s the new guy from account services. Is he coming into the elevator with me? He’s even better looking close up. Much better looking. Did I put on antiperspirant or deodorant this morning? Either way, this might be a problem if he stands too…
And here is the resting place of your great-grandfather, Salvador Earnest Forth. The renowned Sally Forth. Found dead in his cottage with an iPhone in his hand at the age of 96. Yes, I am aware you didn’t get to meet him while he was alive. He was an interesting man. Well, maybe less interesting…
“It sounds like hell.” “You’ll be fine. Now, the women stay stationary in the circle while the men rotate around the perimeter. You’ll switch to a new partner every three minutes,” he carefully explained. “It sounds like square dancing,” I protested. “Do I allemande right or left?” “It’s not square dancing. And you will not…
“There he is! Come in here, big guy!” My father throws me into a headlock hug, causing me to drop a duffle bag full of filthy laundry. It’s too cold out to snow and we quickly retreat inside. “Hey Mom!” I call out. “Mom?” The smells emanating from the kitchen trigger every one of my…
“One of you is sleeping with my husband,” Issa says matter-of-factly, just before the sticky toffee pudding is served. “Issa—” her husband protests, but everyone knows Jude is a womanizer and a fool. The truth of his wife’s declaration shoves his objections right back into his lying mouth. “What I cannot figure out,” Issa languidly…
🏅 ❤️ In nómine Patris, et Fílii, et Spíritus Sancti. Amen. Things sound so much better in Latin, don’t they, Father Connolly? I guess that’s why my parents splurged on the whole two-hour deluxe wedding package. The TLM, baby! Total. Latin. Mass. I’m sure you would have been fabulous with the Gregorian chanting. Father, do…
❤️ No one really explains to you that only after your cervix dilates to 10 centimeters that the true horror show begins. The mounds of maternity pamphlets, handouts, and books you dutifully study and the endless streams of websites, blogs, and postings you devour will all allude to bearing down, but they don’t really convey…
❤️ The minor Greek gods hung out in suburban fern bars, claustrophobically furnished with wood paneling and phony Tiffany lamps. Places where a Reuben sandwich would set you back $12.99. As for the Olympians? They seldom fraternized with the lesser gods, preferring the occasional rowdy roadhouse or ironic dive bar. Any place a random abduction…
❤️ “Stop that. It’s disgusting.” I rolled down the car window for some fresh air. As if the smells emanating from my son’s laundry bag weren’t nauseating enough. “Mom, it’s not my fault,” laughed my 19-year-old son, secretly proud of his foul emissions. “The dining hall serves only three types of food: fried, deep fried,…
A thing there is whose voice is one; / Whose feet are four and two and three. 🜋 🜋 🜋 Four feet. A baby crawls over to his father reading a newspaper at the breakfast table. He pulls at his father’s pants leg. The father picks him up, while folding the newspaper open to the…
You are warned against drinking and dating older men, especially those dark-eyed ones from New Jersey. Upon meeting Frank for the first time, your Virginia gentlewoman of a mother calls him swarthy. Being the son of Italian immigrants is not a crime, you cry, reminding her that The Godfather is just a movie. The second…
She wasn’t sure about these people, clutching copies of their latest writings, ready to be pilloried by perfect strangers around a public library conference room table. “Are you new?” asked an overly friendly librarian. “I’m new,” she decided. It still wasn’t too late to turn around and leave as the stench of uncomfortably conspicuous introverts…
As the relentless Saturday dawn poured through the bedroom’s faux wood blinds, the peroxide blonde gave one last heave then awkwardly dismounted. Wordlessly, she gathered up her things and strode naked into the bathroom, apparently used to the routine. Tom Mosley lay very still. There were sounds of a toilet flushing, a faucet running, and…