I usually have to have poems explained to me, unless they are about, like, Drummer Hodge and how sad it is that his northern brains are somewhere because of (I assume) the Boer War, because in that case, I'm like, Ah, this poem is about Drummer Hodge's northern brains. So the first time I read "Goblin Market" (for SCHOOL, obviously), my response went something along the lines of, "Nice poem. What industrious goblins. Fruit is…

Oh, well, A of all, fuck you, then, and honestly, I don't have anything else to say about it. I honestly don't. I just think it's funny??? how – No, you know what, I honestly don't have anything else to say about it. I honestly don't. Even if you do, I'm just, you know, ZIP, the high road. (By the way, there is a quote from Coleridge that just, mmf, PERFECTLY describes our situation, and…

wait, are you Scottish? I thought you were from Birmingham this is unrelated but do you consider Coventry "the north" Do they not have cell phones in Scotland? Wait, did he just say "did you hear the truth squeaking?" Is everyone okay Why are they complaining about creaks in this beautiful mansion, that seems churlish Why can't they all agree on having one to three accents, I count six people and 900 accents in this one scene…

Recently I purchased a twelve-dollar gray wig online and had it shipped to myself at Nicole's house, where I've been staying for the last three and a half weeks, because I was suddenly and inexplicably seized with the thought, "I should have a gray wig and film the ongoing adventures of best friends Joan Didion and Anna Wintour."

An email exchange between the Nicoles and Mallory which answers the pressing question: what's up with you these days?

SO MUCH YELLING.

"You enjoy long walks from cars to helicopters, or from helicopters to shipyards"

"The number of pages in my last prenuptial agreement were greater than my current bodyweight in imperial pounds"

Wait, really? What is this?

Are you still here? Get out of here! Go on! Get!

As Kermit the Frog as Bob Cratchit said to Mrs. Cratchit, life is full of meetings and partings.

Dear readers,

I know that today is the final day of The Toast, and I wanted to take a moment to reflect on what this space -- and spaces like it -- mean for women.

Let's do this.

We can't BOTH have clear boundaries, you know.

That after an ugly childhood and gawky adolescence, I would blossom into a legendary beauty, the type of which that would awe strangers and be best described as “lissome” and “shining,” instead of being someone who obsessively watched makeup tutorials on Youtube and yet still manages to go out with one eye made up perfectly and the other one looking like it had been made up by a drunken goat.