Stephanie Klein Greek Tragedy

(Naughty Betty, by Stephanie Klein, #2 Pencil on paper)
In second grade, I wasn’t permitted to use adult scissors, so I improvised with a pair of safety scissors, the small sort with padded grips and a rounded wide tip stored…

Someone once said to me in the comment section of this blog that this would happen every time.  I wasn’t sure if it were true.  Last time, when my father and Carol were here, I cried for two days after…

My Yankee New York friends are coming to visit this weekend!  Friday they arrive at noon.  They leave Sunday morning, early (so they’ll miss the Gospel Brunch).  It’s not enough time, but we’re making the most of it.  They’ve never…

She always beats me to it.  When Heather swung through my front door this time, we hugged without apologies.  "This time," she said, "I can really hug you."  My breasts weren’t in pain but my shoulders were.  Sunburn.  When I…

Because of napkins, we’re no longer friends.  We were sitting at the bar at—oh, what’s the name of that restaurant with the ridiculously absurd coconut sticky rice?—Ruby Foo’s, the one on the Upper West Side, near where I’d eventually live. …

When surveying 100 people (or at least 100 blog readers), I ask, “What excuse do you give when you RSVP ‘Yes’ to a wedding and then not show up?”
She didn’t give an excuse.  She didn’t pick up a phone. …

The fall, for sure.  Hot dog vendors.  The energy when you walk out your door.  Yellow taxicabs.  The smell of fireplaces on tree-lined streets.  Little girls seeing Radio City Music Hall for the first time.  Tourists in carriages through the…

I recently attended the wedding of one of my dearest friends.  Sweetest friends, really.  Everyone who meets her describes her as just that, "what a sweet girl."  She never has anything mean to say about anyone, so it amazes me…