How to Kill Your Family

by Bella Mackie

So that’s my dad. Not the one I’d have picked had I been consulted, but there we are. Some people have fathers who beat them, some have fathers who wear Crocs. We all have our crosses to bear.

She was the friendliest woman I’d ever met, and that alone was sufficient reason for me to quit smoking and avoid the area.

The man was handsome in a somewhat generic way, and obviously keen to strike up conversation, but I could already see that he was on the turn. The hair will go first I imagine, and then the jowls will set in. I didn’t have the inclination to invest even a minute on that trajectory.

I feel quite often that it’s good not to know what goes on in the male mind. If we did, I suspect we would spend a lot of our lives in fearful despair.

Men who turn their lights full beam on you for a few seconds and leave you chasing that artificial warmth for the rest of your life.

She’s given up her youth for a pensioner. It’s love. But it’s also patent stupidity.

Never trust an artificial redhead – their need to be different and interesting marks them out as neither)

Tell me if the person I’ve fallen in love with seems like a monster. List the ways. Do a deep dive into it, make graphs. I want all the information.