Denial Is Not Just A River In

When My Son, Jack, Was Four, I Had To Make A Trip To Los Angeles. I Asked Him If He Was Going To Miss Me. 'not So Much,' Jack Told Me. 'you're Not Going To Miss Me?' I Said. Jack Shook His Head, And He Said, 'love Means You Can Never Be Apart.

Lots Of Women Are Gifting Themselves With Diamonds For Their Right Hand.

What Are You Doing Here?” [ndr Prison] Selling Girl Scout Cookies,” I Said. “want Some? The Samoas Are Terrific.” (max Ii To Max)

Fang," I Said, My Voice Breaking. "just Live, Okay? Live And Be Okay." With No Warning, I Leaned Down And Kissed His Mouth, Just Like That. "ow," He Said, Touching His Split Lip, Then He And I Stared At Each Other In Shock.

Unfortunately, Every Time Someone Said “debriefing,” The Entire Flock Had One Image: Someone’s Tighty-whities Disappearing In A Flash. We Were Smothering Our Giggles, But It Was Getting Harder. Coupled With The Whole “naval This, And Naval That,” With Its Undeniable Belly-button Connotations, We Were Essentially Turning Into A Sugar-jacked, Sleep-deprived Flock Of Incoherent, Silly, Recombinant-dna Goofballs. This Was Not Going To End Well.