The mistakes don't matter. It's what you do when you mess up that does.
Confused, I asked, "The coven's what?" "Plumber," Ivy said, looking pale as she leaned on Glenn. "You know. Stops leaks?" Oh goodie. I'm a leak.
Was using “dead-man’s-toe” morally okay if the man’s relatives had knowingly sold him for parts?
Nothing is so hard that it can't be found by searching.
She's not your type. Since when do I have a type?
Sure, he had a wife and fifty-four kids, but he looked like a college freshman. A yummy college freshman majoring in Oh-my-god-I-gotta-get-me-some-of-that.