There was less than I’d expected in the rainy-day fund that Mom had kept in the bottom of an underwear drawer in a panty hose egg labeled ‘DEAD SPIDERS.’ As if I hadn’t always known it was there. As if I wouldn’t want to look at dead spiders.
Is there a short-eared koobish, then?’ Mmmyes …’ said J.Lo. ‘But it is technically not really a koobish. Is more alike a kind of singing pumpkin.’ We had conversations like these all the time, where I just eventually gave up.
Can I see some ID?” “WE DON’T HAVE ID,” said Jay, loudly. “‘CAUSE WE’RE CANADIAN. WE DON’T USE ID…THERE. AND THAT’S WHY WE LOOK SO YOUNG. ‘CAUSE WE’RE CANADIAN.”
[J.Lo] found us a police car. Sort of. ‘It’s not a police car,’ I said. ‘It is,’ said J.Lo. ‘Looknow. Lights for flashing.’ ‘That’s true.’ ‘Writing on the sides.’ ‘Yeah, but the writing? It says ”BullShake Party Patrol.” Yes. Whatnow?