My Wife Hides Ice Cream Sandwiches from Me
The beauty of freelance, working-from-home life is that I can type this right now wearing a pink thong and lipstick on my nipples and no one is the wiser. The ugly is that there is a refrigerator with food I chose to stock a mere 15 steps from my desk.
By morning, he had decided he needed somewhere nobody cared about theater, someplace where the name Chekhov was more likely to be mistaken for a rifle than a playwright.