Big Sister Luck_Honestly_Gift God_Love in the Time of Apocalypse
Catalog Guide:
Big Sister Luck
Round the bowl I plod. The task at hand, dishes. Mood: Big sisters lead lives that suck. Big sisters are assigned tasks that big brothers evade without awareness. Luck finds boys like mold finds bathrooms. Insidiously. Darkness infringes on the www.onedoor.ccdaylight used to complete my chore. A scream strikes the air at a pitch that rivals the goddess Mariah Carey herself. The bowl slips into a loud collision with the stainless-steel sink. “What the heck?” I mumble. The soft shudder of our double screen door sounds and a bitter chill foreign to the tropics bleeds inside. “It,” Malakai, my youngest sibling,...
Honestly
“O Woman That I Used To Love, what should we get for dinner tonight?’’“Honestly, my Greatest Disappointment? I don’t care.”“You do care. You want me to suggest a place to eat so you can shoot it down. Whatever I say, you will wrinkle your little nose like I decided that we should eat out of the cat’s litter box.”“You could not be more wrong, but you usually are.” “Perhaps you could stop on the way home and pick up some takeout.”“I could, but I won’t. Our nightly conversation about dinner is the only authentic communication we will have all day, so I’m going to stretch it out as long as possibl...
Gift God
‘Thank you! It’s just what I wanted’ is a commonly heard phrase at Christmas time. Families the world over use it to veil their disappointment. This creates all sorts of problems: it enshrines the gift giver in a bubble of Christmas hubris, adds to their obliviousness, and perpetuates the cycle of bad gifts. But do not fear: the cycle can be broken. You, my friend, can become a Gift God.If you’re not sure that you’re an inferior gift-giver, you most likely are one. Folk have been too polite to tell you. I’m telling you now because subpar gifts make subpar lives, and nobody wants that. I know. ...
Love in the Time of Apocalypse
Willy was in a pickle.As the electrical grid sputtered, Willy desperately tapped his computer to see if his blind date had received his spasmodic messages. Jay, the hopeless romantic at Willy’s work, had set Willy and Barbara Jean up before the remaining Arctic ice caps had melted. With rationing and queuing for breadlines and blaring air raid sirens causing pandemonium, it had been hard to find a suitable date and time to meet.Things had been chaotic at Willy’s work since the long-range missile attack and Atlantic hurricanes beat the Eastern seaboard to shreds. At least the forests on the Wes...