I spend too much time on Twitter. And, frankly, it’s awful. Every day is like wading through a sea of poop to try and find a cupcake, and even when you find that, it’s like, “Well, I can’t possibly eat this cupcake. It’s covered in poop.” As a writer, Twitter becomes a sort of necessary…
It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a married man in possession of a house will one day find himself in a shouting match with his spouse about something trivial like throw pillows. All of this will likely happen at IKEA. If that man has refused to go to IKEA, because he has justly concluded…
(Note: the adorable little guy pictured above is not the dog from the story. I bumped into him while shopping and thought he was a weird, furry keychain dangling from a guy’s bag at first.) If you read the news in the last two days, you might have caught the story that is presently haunting…
When I got home, I cried. Finally. Rand hugged me, wore that same worried look he gets on his face when something goes wrong and he’s not there for it. For a long time I wondered what it was about me that meant the second I went on a trip on my own, things started…
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
Available Now!
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