I asked her, dreamily, if we had met, and when she told me that we had not, I gave her a little finger wave, the type a leprechaun might offer a pixie who was floating by on a maple leaf. "Well, hi there," I whispered.
David SedarisTag: dream drugs leprechaun hello anesthesia pixie propofol
In my book, if you want to be treated like an old person, you have to look like one. That means no face-lift, no blond hair, and definitely no fishnet stockings.
David SedarisThen he reached to an even higher shelf and brought down another plastic grocery bag, this one from Tesco, which is decidedly less upscale. “Now, a smell is going to hit you when I open this up, but don’t worry,” he said. “It’s just the smoke they used to preserve the head.” That’s a phrase you don’t hear too often, so it took a moment for it to sink in.
David SedarisTag: humour
I should be used to the way Americans dress when traveling, yet it still manages to amaze me. It’s as if the person next to you had been washing shoe polish off a pig, then suddenly threw down his sponge saying, “Fuck this. I’m going to Los Angeles!
David SedarisTag: humour
Their house had real hard-cover books in it, and you often saw them lying open on the sofa, the words still warm from being read.
David SedarisI don't know how these couples do it, spend hours each night tucking their kids in, reading them books about misguided kittens or seals who wear uniforms, and then reread them if the child so orders. In my house, our parents put us to bed with two simple words: "Shut up." That was always the last thing we heard before our lights were turned off. Our artwork did not hang on the refrigerator or anywhere near it, because our parents recognized it for what it was: crap. They did not live in a child's house, we lived in theirs.
David SedarisI look into the future and see my brother's face, impossibly middle-aged. His daughter has rejected all of his values, and stands now on the dais of a major university, the valedictorian preparing to deliver her commencement speech. What will she think when her dad stands in the aisle, releasing a hog call and raising his T-shirt to reveal the jiggling message painted upon his bare stomach? Will she turn away, as my father predicts, or might she remember all the nights she awoke to discover him: this slob, this lump, this silly drooling toy asleep at her feet.
David SedarisPeople who have nothing to prove offer practical baby gifts: sturdy cotton rompers made to withstand the cycle of vomit and regular washing. People who are competing for the titles of best-loved aunts and uncles - people like my sisters and me - send satin pants and delicate hand-crafted sweaters accompanied by notes reading "P.S. The fur collar is detachable.
David SedarisI had not laid a finger on the boy's head. I have never poked or prodded either a baby or a child, so why did I feel so dirty? Part of it was just my makeup, the deep-seated belief that I deserve a basement room, but a larger, uglier part had to do with the voices I hear on the talk radio, and my tendency, in spite of myself, to pay them heed. The man in the elevator had not thought twice about asking Michael personal questions or about laying a hand on the back of his head. Because he was neither a priest nor a homosexual, he hadn't felt the need to watch himself, worrying that every word or gesture might be misinterpreted. He could unthinkingly wander the halls with a strange boy, while for me it amounted to a political act - an insistence that I was as good as the next guy.
David SedarisMe: Did you get your tree yet?
Ken: I'm a Jew, I don't decorate Christmas trees.
Me: So you're going to go with a wreath instead?
Ken: I just told you, I'm a Jew.
Me: Oh, I get it. You're looking for a cheap wreath.
Ken: I'm not looking for a wreath at all. Leave me alone, will you.
Me: You're probably just tense because you haven't finished your Christmas shopping.
Ken: I don't Christmas shop.
Me: What are you telling me? That you make all of your presents.
Ken: I don't give Christmas presents period. Goddamit, I told you, I'm a Jew.
Me: Well, don't you at least need to buy something for your parents?
Ken: They're Jews, too, idiot. That's what makes me one. It's hereditary. Do you understand?
Me: Sure.
Ken: Say the words "I understand."
Me: I understand. So where are you going to hang your stocking?
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