Quite Possibly My Last First Date

As the bus crawls towards Rittenhouse, it dawns on me: this might possibly be my last first date. Not because of anything in particular in his…

The Story Begins

Okay, okay, I shall stop teasing you all. Here at last is the story of the flowers behind my front door, but we must start, as…

Right. So yesterday’s post? Feel, Felt, Found? I’m sure you felt like I was just putting you off, dragging things out for the sake of a…

I know, I know: you don’t care what books I’m reading. Or what my house looks like. Or how I feel about what my house looks…

I did not mean to suggest in Monday’s post the Middlesex is melodramatic. It is, but not in a bad way. It is a book that…

I have a confession to make: I am in love. Although it’s not what you think. Okay, it is what you think. But we’ll get to…

I suppose it’s time to tell you: I came back to my house yesterday—my house, the one with the thrice scrubbed floors that still feel and…

This time around was easy: I mailed the book I’d borrowed from The European back to his house, pushed the magnets he’d given me to the…

The problem with dating a man who is gluten free (and who has promised to come over one Friday to help you hand out Halloween candy…

There is something wrong. I know we were supposed to be at the patio for breakfast by 7:00am, and I know I’m at the right patio…

El Salvador, 2015: It’s our first day out of San Salvador and between the drive down to the coast, the boat ride through the mangrove forest…

As soon as I get to Houston I start scanning the departure gate for people who look like press. Being that this is my first press…