This column isn’t about love, but boyfriends. Terrible boyfriends. The greatest, terrible boyfriends in (great?) literature.

So, as another application season comes to a close, I take this moment to reflect upon my chosen career path. You see, I have an MFA in Creative Writing, which apart from allowing me to wrestle with this strange need to write fiction, has propelled me in the exciting career world of college administration. But

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Having reached a stage in my life where all my friends, acquaintances and well-wishers are all on the verge of, if not already, starting their families, and by proxy their adult lives, there’s a lot of pressure to live up to the expectations of, well, everybody. Sure, some people are all about the nuclear family unit with the 2.5 kids, golden retriever, goldfish, and a decaying elderly relative confined to a rickety rocking chair in the den, and I’d be lying if I hadn’t thought about the very same (sans the goldfish), but is it worth it?

The cuddly Easter Bunny. I’ll do my best to avoid the hack topic of “What does a rabbit have to do with Jesus?” but I’m not making any promises. This ‘wascally wabbit’ doesn’t give off nearly as big a creep factor as Santa, but this is a text book case of narcissism.

Belle Gunness, mother and murderer entrepreneur, reveals what’s in her bag!