1. How do you welcome your new Mormon neighbors? (a) I tell them Mormons are the just the nicest people, then ask them to watch my dogs while I’m in Maui for a month. (b) I formulate a rescue plan that includes college football and a seven-layer bean dip when the husband slips me a

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In a statement to the press this week, Coca Cola reflected on the recent release of their new marketing campaign—“Share a Coke, Passive Aggressively.”

I’m not disabled, just a terrible person. The boyfriend sometimes accuses me of being manic when I write to him at 3:30 a.m. calling him a magnificent, exotic pitcher plant or a gorgeously ornamented egg-cup. But not disabled — I feel like that’s an important piece of information before we start.

I’m in the middle of my tuna melt when Wendy tells me she’s got a woman on the line with a clown stuck in her window well. Great.

“Can I call her after my break?” I say with a mouth full of moist tuna.

To which Wendy says, “I’m really sorry but she sounds like hysterics.”

Wendy’s big for her age, her age being about 55—or 20 years my senior—and big being residual body mass from her college rugby days.

I put the rest of my lunch in foil.

Evelyn wasn’t entirely sure what to do, when her husband choked and died at the breakfast table one Saturday morning. Lifting him was out of the question; she was fit for a seventy-two year old, but Ennis was decidedly less so. No, she wouldn’t be able to budge him without straining something. Going into town for help was out, too. She was definitely not ready for any of the folk in town to come sneaking and spying around her house under the guise of caring.