When we got married, I made sure to scratch out the obey part in the standard vows, and I know there wasn’t a part about promising to kill my soul, either.
Hard lesson to learn – not every woman can work a pole. I dislocated my big toe. Honestly, who dislocates a toe? It hurt like a mother when the doctor popped it back into place. At least my doctor was cute, but unfortunately, she was also a woman.
Some people call it sexting, but I think textual relations has a nice ring to it. Either way, it’s good for the soul.
Wait! You can’t drink when you breastfeed? … This pregnancy and baby thing keeps getting worse and worse.
There’s an art to loving someone. And just like real art, it’s subjective. One person’s way of showing love doesn’t work for everyone. It’s delicate. And just like real art, sometimes you mess up and have to start over. Sometimes the piece can be saved, and sometimes it can’t.
After only reading two of her books, I enthusiastically and unequivocally adore Prescott Lane and want to follow her around like a rabid fangirl. I do believe I could read her work every day and never tire of her witty word-craft. Her humor is crisp and clever; her writing is amusing, smart, observant, and keenly insightful; and her characters are endearingly flawed and knowable. I quickly fell in love with Mateo; he was a god among men and the most perfect and patient of boyfriends. More, please!