Wry, brilliant writing from David Lohrey
I don’t want the staff to pick for me.
I go to the other side of the store, looking for a good remainder.
I don’t even like getting books for Christmas.
I don’t want anyone to make a selection for me.
I don’t want to wear underwear bought by my mother.
I prefer to cut my own meat.
I don’t want to smoke a cigarette lit by a stranger.
I don’t want to wear a tie that’s been chosen by a friend.
I don’t want to use a fork that’s been in someone else’s mouth.
I can’t share a tooth brush, can you?
I’m like Madonna: if it were up to me, I’d just as soon sit on a brand new toilet.
I’d just as well not flush for you; and whenever I forget, I regret it.
I’d just as well clean up after myself. And I sure as hell…
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