Amen,' I exclaim, accidentally spitting out a Raisinet. I pick up the chocolate with a Kleenex and stuff it in my purse. Ten bucks says a month from now I'll have forgotten about it and will finally have said heart attack when I assume a rat shat in there.

I've determined the ideal job for me is one where I can write clever essays about my life and my employer will give me enough money not only to live a comfortable existence, but also to buy many, many new pairs of shoes.

Ambien might have mentally just tossed my salad. WITH CROUTONS.

When I hug her, I notice she's still wearing yesterday's false eyelashes. Mom? You know those come off with a little makeup remover and a cotton pad?" I'm not taking them off." Why not?" I spent $180 on that makeup job and I refuse to wash my face until I get my money's worth.

Writing is something that I've always loved. That stems from my love of being a reader.

Expressing political opinion can be a powerful way to establish a character's voice when writing fiction.

The best thing about being 45 is not taking myself so seriously. Do I miss the package I came in at 25? I do. Gravity is no one's friend. Yet the perspective I've gained is so worth the wear and tear. What would have mortified me at 25 is now simply fodder for a funny, relatable story. Also? I was a waitress at 25, and now I'm an author. Forty-five is definitely better.