The Memory Box

by Eva Lesko Natiello

I don’t own a poker face. I own a scared-shitless face, an I-ate-the-last-granola-bar face, an I-got-a-scratch-on-the-new-car face, and an I-know-something-I-can’t-tell-you face.

Why is it kids are completely tuned in when you say something embarrassing but can’t hear perfectly normal things like “Please put your dirty clothes in the hamper, not on the floor next to the hamper”?

It’s remarkable how people can sustain a conversation for so long about nothing. I hate small talk. It’s such bullshit.

Good things don’t come to those who wait. Good things come to those who shift gears.