Mislaid

by Nell Zink

lesbian or no lesbian, you had to have a tea-length off-the-shoulder dress made of boiled cotton with a flower print and tulle underskirts.

Fatherhood surprised him pleasantly. As a male he assumed no unpleasant duties would accrue to him. He would be responsible for teaching the child conversational skills once it reached its teens.

There was only one party game: Run Wild.

She asked Meg in despair why a pony would disappear. Where did it go? Could mountain lions or timber rattlers have gotten it? “It was probably some little girl’s Christmas present,” Meg said. Karen had written to Santa asking for a banana split. She could find no words to express how Meg’s information made her feel.

He was trying to cut down on drinking during the day, especially before board meetings,

Something about claims of inventing the obvious—pizza by the slice, or reading poetry aloud over a recording of yourself reading poetry aloud—always reminded him of New York.

The part where Andre describes being buried alive reminded her of her whole life.

There was no hazing involved, unless you counted being forced to do bong hits until you said “No, thanks, I’ll pass.”

“Break out the champagne!” Lomax called out. “We got a new action plan. We’re giving up drugs for tennis!” “Why would you do that?” “Don’t ask me. I am higher than a mountain.”

If you did all the reading, you wouldn’t have time to eat, sleep, go to class, or anything else.