For as long as I can remember, my father saved. He saves money, he saves disfigured sticks that resemble disfigured celebrities, and most of all, he saves food. Cherry tomatoes, sausage biscuits, the olives plucked from other people's martinis --he hides these things in strange places until they are rotten. And then he eats them.

A good [short story] would take me out of myself and then stuff me back in, outsized, now, and uneasy with the fit.

They were Jesuits," she told me. "That means they believe in God but not in terlet paper. You should have seen their underwear. Disgusting.

I guess my guilty pleasure would be listening to the British audio versions of the 'Harry Potter' books.

I've wasted a lot of time pretending to be interested in people who weren't terribly interesting.

Neighbors would pass, and when they honked I'd remember that I was in my Speedo. Then I'd wrap my towel like a skirt around my waist and remind my sisters that this was not girlish but Egyptian, thank you very much.

If you aren't cute, you may as well be clever.