Anne Thériault

Consider asking your father to turn you into a tree.

I want to know the texture and weight of faith, as if it was a sort fabric I could run my fingertips over.

Spoiler alert: they look like bodies that have been recently been filled with a quart of amniotic fluid, two pounds of placenta plus a kid. This is not a bad thing.

Was Tommy from Third Rock From The Sun a slimy old alien dude or a 12-year-old boy? In retrospect, it doesn't matter.

Like several other words in Webster's (pegasus, manticore, afterlife), "misandry" falls firmly into the category of “imaginary things.”

I could tell my therapist that tomorrow I will eat toast for breakfast instead of a bagel, and technically I will have done what she's asked.

Spring is the realization that if you can't believe in the possibility of change, then what have you got left?