My husband’s Twitter account is a lot more professional than mine, because my husband is a lot more professional than I am. He’s also not really into PDAs, and so it’s pretty easy for me to embarrass him by simply mentioning that *lowers voice* we sometimes do adult things together. So on a regular basis,…
My husband turned 40 at the beginning of July. I wanted a Bacchanalian celebration, cake and lights and streamers and swarms of people, forgetting entirely that this milestone wasn’t about me. The realization would hit me eventually, before too much planning had occurred: he didn’t want a big to-do. Nor did he want, he insisted,…
I don’t know when the idea for this year’s Halloween costume originated. Rand and I have been talking about it for years. It’s the sort of thing that stays simmering on the back burner for so long that you almost have to wonder if it’ll ever come to fruition, or if the idea will simply…
My beloved wrote a book. How it came to be was radically different from my own path. When I wrote a book, it became a job, it became the thing I was doing because on a daily basis, there’s not that much else that is asked of me. But there are always things asked of…
“Why do they have so many copies of my book? Is that a bad sign? Does that mean no one’s buying it?” “No. Your book has been out for a year, and they have a lot of copies. That’s a good sign. That means they keep it in stock.” “Are you sure? Because doesn’t it…
My husband and I are driving through southern Oregon, like we have every summer since we were married. I see a Red Lobster. I scream. I tell him to pull over immediately. He ignores me. After more than a decade together he can distinguish between my “something is urgently wrong” scream and my “I need…
I have a confession. My husband, Rand, is more fashionable than me. This is contrary to everything that movies and television have taught me, where the female sex is supposed to be stylish, and men can run around looking like they’re in the middle of washing their car. Behold. But that’s not the case with…
The proprietor stands behind the counter, eyeing us warily. “How many do you want?” he asks. Lisa and I look at each other. “Maybe twenty?” she offers tentatively.
“Dear god,” I told him when I saw the photo. “I look positively predatory.” Rand laughed. “You do,” he agreed. “You look like you are hunting me.”
Tales of Food, Feminism, and Fury
by Geraldine DeRuiter
Available Now!
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