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“You crazy girl,” Angela said. “Other people name their children after their best friends. I am going to name my ulcer after you!
“Sure. Okay. We’ll get our lovely creepy house back. When they bury me in that crypt, I want ‘Jared, very inbred, deeply uncomfortable about it’ on my tombstone.”
“High school for me was mostly musical numbers. That’s how it is in the States, you’ve seen the movies. Every time someone had an emotional dilemma or epiphany, they would burst into song, and we would all have to break out into perfectly choreographed dance sequences. It took a lot of intensive training. So many jazz squares, no time for love.”
“I want to interfere horribly in my friends’ love lives and keep my own embarrassing and pathetic one private, is that so much to ask?”
