It’s been the shy side of two weeks since I found myself adrift in this mid-century modern fruit basket shaped like the architectural renderings of Noah’s Ark. The oranges mock me with their zest, the lemons with their unwavering yellow. But as my fibrous plumbing leaks the fluid from my body—my stringy bits are edible by the way, right up until the end—I have but one simple request: just let me get baked. We can do it together. I know you want to.

Let’s face it, my shtick was tired even from the beginning. The beret and shades, the lazy jive slang? No one wants to be around me, with my pathological neediness to be loved. Always trying so hard to ingratiate myself with the embarrassing charade of my “good taste:” the painting, music, poetry. Faked an interest in modern art I couldn’t stand, hired an interior decorator I couldn’t afford.

Doris Abernathy Springland 2 hr ago
I just heard a really loud noise like a banging does anyone know what it was?

First off: I don’t care that you’re a hunchback. It’s 100% fine. This is not about that, okay?

I was driving and you were a pedestrian, but let’s get this straight – you almost hit me. Not the other way around.

Dearest Annelise–

I am truly sympathetic to your difficulties in naming your newest cookbook, and fully understand and support your desire to use a single-word title. Your previous cookbooks–Eat, Bite, Munch, and Devour–sold crisply when they came out, and have continued to do well. As your agent, however, I just don’t think that Masticate works as a title.