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.

All women want their men to know what they’re thinking. They think it’s a sign of true connectedness; a phenomenon I’m convinced females invented. It only exists in romantic comedies. In real life, unless you tell your husband exactly what’s on your mind, you’ll be waiting a very long time.