There is something excruciating about the rare experience of a bachelorette party when you’re in your mid-thirties. Gone are the days of putting on your slinkiest dress and a sash that says “Bachelorette Party” (but that means “Buy me a drink, I’m not the one
“Don’t you remember?” my mother asked. “You were out of school for most of seventh and eighth grade. You had Mrs. Colletti for a tutor.” “Look in that cabinet,” she said, pointing to a tin box near the television. “There’s a red book. I’ve recorded
When the love ends, one realizes that it is gracious for a lover not to speak in permanence or gifts. I’m sitting at a study table on the sixth floor of the library, and the window before me is something like twenty feet tall. The
The bandages circled my head at an oblique angle and irritated the earward side of my right eyebrow. I was waiting in the sickly park outside the hospital for Zalut (pronounced like “Salut!”) to arrive in his car, a duct-taped Vaz-2101. There was broken glass