Stephanie Klein Greek Tragedy

I can’t sleep.  As in, haven’t slept in a few nights really, and I’m not the kind of person with things like insomnia.  I’m pre something or other.  I have to be, though I’m not quite sure because I’m not…

It comes down to a number; it always does.  Whether it’s age, weight, or in this case, the size of the new jeans I had to purchase today, I’m a slave to numbers and what they mean.  Over the past…

Infatuation is a fake out that rivals an inaccurate home pregnancy test.  It’s right up there with morphine or chocolate.  You get sugared up and giddy, becoming the idiot who smiles to herself on the subway.  I’ve seen these happy…

You can walk into a McDonald’s anywhere, even if it’s in the city, and you’re suddenly transported to a highway, an interstate, a pitstop in the road.  Maybe it’s a crossroads or a place to rest.  Either way, you’re tired…

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You passed me memory with the butter, over the cubes of foie gras I didn’t think I’d like but did.  You pointed out my milestone on the sidewalk as if it were glass.  I swerved and am…

You see it in the stitching or the way the logo is clipped near the zipper, and you know it’s a knock-off of a pricey must-have.  It was a good impersonation, but you’re onto them now.  Some people are knock-offs,…

It was all a lie.  The curriculum said we’d learn to share in Kindergarten.  Finger-paint, yes, share, not so much.  I had play dates where I was forced to let new friends touch my stuff.  No, not while we played…

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