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Sometimes, when I’m grocery shopping, or out minding my own business, a little voice in my head reminds me that I’ve made my mom cry before.
I always feel sort of tortured as my own spectator. I want to boo, cringe, and splat rotten fruit at my own head until someone closes the curtains.
“I noticed from my podcast that women who light up rooms get murdered.”
Heterosexuality is really shoved down children’s throats.
You can’t kill yourself in modern ovens. Well, I’m sure you could. You could kill yourself with anything if you tried hard enough. When we sit there, though, I feel like we are moths drawn to the memory of what an oven can do to sad women.