There was a beat. Then, in the best parenting save I’ve encountered anywhere ever, my dad replied, “Yeah, sweetie. I don’t know either.” And that’s how I came to believe “oral sex” meant “talking” for the next six or seven years.

Your real-life sexual orientation is moot. You deserve the same respect — and career opportunities — provided to other actors. Here’s my evidence: You’re consistently confusing the crap out of my lady hormones.

In South Beach we turned our noses up at the restaurants by the water, where the waitresses bark at you that it’s happy hour and there is a special. Instead we ate tapas at a little Spanish place that felt hidden. By this point we were both so sunburned and tired, we needed to go home.

Even after we became used to being constantly sneered at and belittled and insulted and demeaned, we were shocked every time he really crossed the line. I used to fantasize that he would die in a car accident, and daydream about how happy we would be if we heard that he wasn’t coming back through that front door.

While we taxied to the runway, you told me about how you used to have a cat named Tom that would attack your wife in her sleep. You searched through the pockets of your khaki travel vest to try and locate one of your business cards. Your business? Bridge-building. Hence, Bridge Man.

I turn to be greeted by a very familiar-looking TSA officer. Why, it’s my old high school rival, Jim! (He’s the dirty dog who stole my best gal and took her to the Homecoming Dance senior year.) “Hey Jim! How are you? You’re looking good, my man!”

She insists on making the bed even though I’m going to collapse onto it as soon as she’s finished. “Making the bed is an act of love,” she says, like she pulled that phrase out of some Grandma textbook that only Grandmas read. I know nothing about making the bed, nothing about love.

Among the many lessons I was taught by those wing women so long ago, the one I learned that day at the store I consider the most important. I realized not only did I want to be around people who lived their lives in exclamation points but I also wanted to live my own life the same way. Months later that lesson would play a key role, arguably, in helping me to find someone who, thankfully, was generous enough to relieve my virginity.

Early yesterday morning, 21-year-old Brittanie Wagner struck her father with her vehicle, who was walking along the side of the road. Driving without glasses, Wagner initially assumed that she had struck an “an animal or a garbage can,” according to The Smoking Gun. Only when police pulled her over soon after did she realize the victim was her father.


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