The woman hovered over me with her sharp metal instruments, poised in concentration. Somehow I’d agreed to let a stranger probe inside my mouth while I lay on my back, passive and inert. And I probably had a spinach leaf in my teeth from lunch.

A friend had recommended this dentist, assuring me she was experienced and trustworthy. Dr. Jen looked barely old enough to drive but seemed to know what she was doing.

Have a favorite epithet? So do we! Feel free to use whatever language you’d like. You’re now among friends. Or honkies mostly, but you can at least say so! Here in Indiana, we understand connection is more important than pretense. And it won’t matter if that connection only happens with people who look and think as you do. That’s just how friendship works!

One whole summer of just Gatorade and mac and cheese. One whole summer to save the dough for a scouts’ seat ticket to the biggest ball game of the year. Well look at you now—right behind home plate with a perfect view.

Let me say straight away that I have no problem living next door to a gay club, even one such as yours that boasts a fisting room in the back. I am a single, straight woman who has had minimal experience in that area, but unless someone is attempting to ram home a tractor, I fail to comprehend the intense groaning and outright wailing that comes directly up our shared air shaft and into my tiny kitchen.

Season 3, Episode 3: Pawfka-esque (The Metamorphosis by Franza Kafka): Wishbone is confused when his owner, Joe, invites him on the couch, while Joe’s mother, Ellen, yells at him to get down, putting our furry friend in a no-win situation.  With such absurdity, he may as well be Gregor Samsa going to bed a dog and waking up a person.