Kate Ryan

She knows you’re not supposed to call it an “it,” but she honestly can’t tell if it’s a boy or girl or . . . undecided.

Eva, having stayed up the whole night preoccupied with death and time, planned to call in sick.

I would send some chocolates, but I’m not allowed anymore since they found the shiv in the birthday cake I sent you.

For all of you crazy people that think going to Target is ever a good idea during the holiday season, this is a list on how to survive a shopping trip to Target is for you…

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

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

She gropes for attention while he dies in the other room.

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

“Don’t you smash that cake in my face, or I’ll never forgive you,” she said, and she never did, not really.

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.