Kate Ryan

A bloated mother in her polka dot one-piece gnaws on a corndog while reading the romantic pulp she picked up on her way out of the supermarket . . .

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

The case of beer I brought, as my mother explained, is “pure poison” and so I must drink it all by myself.

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…

Fresh orange juice, milk, thick slices of ham, a block of cheese, a carton of eggs—her husband kept it this way should this moment arrive.

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.

She couldn’t imagine the water she sat in, the water that enveloped her body, wanted to be here.

Light some candles and use those bath salts you've been saving for a special occasion. Masturbate for 55 minutes.

Okay, so maybe she didn’t really understand feminism.

Surviving the Apocalypse didn’t mean they couldn’t enjoy a little romance.