“Here’s the thing,” she said, “I’m a catch.”
“That’s the thing,” he said, “so am I.”
“When you talk to her,” he told himself, “aim more for passive compliment, and less for marriage proposal.”
I insisted that you keep your socks on, not because your feet were cold against mine, but because I didn’t want to see your ankle tattoo of a cartoon turtle.
She was always searching for a story.
He was sometimes searching for her story too.
At some point, soon, we are going to have to redefine the word “favorite.”
Do not make a list of things you love more than love.
Is he or she “Similar To You” because you look at his or her Twitter feed 12 times a day?
Internet retirement, imminent.
The rule is: NO SUBWAY PANTS ON THE BED. The rule is not an invitation to take off all clothing upon entering my apartment.
“Didn’t you get my text message?” I asked. “Everyone got your text message,” he said, “you sent it to Twitter .”
I knew it was over when he bought some self-help books for me, for Chanukah.
I thought it was weird that such a smart man did not understand the meaning of the word “self.”
He thought it was weird that I pretended that was the part that mattered.
“The ‘self’ isn’t the point,” he said.
I pointed out that the semantics were sort of actually exactly the point.
And we seemed, for a moment, like a pretty good match.
“I’m not trying to make you feel bad,” said my mother, “but we already got a holiday card from the garbage men, so you really should mail your cards soon.”
You always obscure the object,” they said.
But maybe they meant “the subject.”
