Author: Catharine

Dilemma the Doofa was in a sticky situation. There was a bitter old Houlabadoula sitting on her left shoulder, and a small porcelain teapot balancing itself on the tip of her very large and pointy nose who was laughing at her – and not very nicely either. “Inconspicuously incongruent!” Dilemma shouted. She slapped the silly…

Once in a blue moon, there’s a little person born at Gate D18 in the Atlanta airport. These people smell like the orange scented cleaner that Mexican ladies use on your hotel room, they have broomstick straight hair shaped like a Nebraskan haystack, and their limbs are as thin as the napkins you get at…

This morning I boarded a plane from Little Rock to Atlanta—that smoggy wonder of a molehill—and sat down in my seat at the back of the plane. It was pitch black on the ground, with nothing able to be seen except the dark men’s dark faces lit up by the flickering red lights of the…