I should have chum controls on my browser with a pop-up box that warns, “Don’t You Have Something Better To Do?”
In the hour between the end of school and the time her parents arrived, we crowded into their kitchen and sucked burned tobacco into our lungs.
It was just one errant grey wire poking through the brown, looking out of place — just one hair. But I was horrified.
Amoebas in sexy grass skirts will soon be doing the hula on TV commercials, calmly wagging their hips to quell our fear of microbes and hypnotize us into buying new and improved products squirming with life.
It doesn’t seem fair that the only fat that disappears with age is the fat no one could see in the first place.