Cursed?" I offered, my voice croaky because of my unshed tears. "It isn't cursed." John said deliberately, rearranging the chain around my neck, "if you're wearing it. It's blessed.

I like 'em big. And stupid. Don't tell my husband.

I have nothing against Sean Penn. I don't even mind that he ended up divorcing Madonna. I mean, I still like Shia LaBeouf even though he chose to star in Transformers, which turned out to be a movie about robots from space. That Talk. Which is just as bad as choosing to divorce Madonna, if you ask me

That hurt querida, that really hurt

I didn't even think about suggesting he take the boots off. There'd probably be a apocalypse or something.

I felt as if the Milky Way, hovering above our heads like a celestial pitcher, had suddenly overturned, pouring suns and planets down my throat. Stars seemed to be shooting out of my finger and toes, the ends of my hair.

Okay, yeah, he staggered back and fell into the condiments. Big deal. There wasn't any blood. I didn't even get him in the face. He saw my fist coming, and at the last minute he ducked, so instead of punching him in the nose, like I intended, I ended up punching him in the neck. I highly doubt it even left a bruise.