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He ruffles my feathers. He overcooks my sunny-side-up eggs. You know what I mean? Really Mondays my Garfield.
Great ambiance—enough body hair to afford some privacy but not so much that it gets in the way of your meal.
We don’t want to shame you, especially during a month as joyous as Pride. We celebrate all our bankers, bankettes, and bank-theys.
As far as anyone here knows, we’re just one extremely handsome journalist and one extremely available woman sharing bruschetta.
My clone is always ill. Plus, our clones are deficient in blood, because we didn’t give them enough blood, so they are often woozy.
I can see that you've just put sunglasses on him. No, you're not allowed to "Weekend at Bernie's" an ice sculpture.
“Makes you glad to have nerve endings.” — Kirkus Reviews
I am going to yell into a pillow. I am going to scream in an empty car. I am going to throw a full tantrum in the grocery store cereal aisle.
I think I can muster up just enough strength to go put the gardening tools away but that’s about it. Just give me a second while I try to stand up.
February 1: Someone told me the ice cream bowl was basically just a cone. Total hater.
The word was poised to leap out of my mouth. I could feel the word coming loose from whatever papillae it had stepped in.
Larry took long walks where he bore a smug, knowing smile as he passed this editor’s house and looked upon the decrepit, unkempt lawn.