Kate Ryan

For the record, I didn’t mean to be born so tall. I didn’t ask for bulky shoulders or a head that doesn’t fit most hats.

Alma couldn’t understand why her Yelp reviews were so dismal. She didn’t advertise herself as a magician. She was a hair stylist.

Everyone wants to have the funny tweets because people equate them with wealth, power, and beauty. The problem is, we’re not all funny.

Writing simply does for me what long walks do for small dogs; it makes me tired and happy.

She got too high while watching The Bachelor and had a misanthropic breakdown.

One crawled up the side of the bag and opened her wings, a hardtop convertible with legs.

One of my biggest fears is having a random stranger ask me, "how it’s going?" They might as well ask if I’d like to step into their van and get murdered.

The bread had to be store-bought and white, of course, so as not to raise a red flag among my classmates. I still see rebellion in a ham sandwich.

Someone would always cook in their tighty whities, his package at eye level for the person doing French homework at the kitchen table.

At Monster High, Jimmy Werewolf gets another demerit for forgetting to shave again.