Classism

I don’t care what Donald Trump eats, or any other president for that matter. I don’t care if he exercises. Health is not guaranteed under any circumstance.

I hate to love Walmart. It’s a complicated relationship, and their new car-side Walmart grocery pick-up is not making it any easier.

All I wanted, most days, was a cute apartment with big windows, sheer curtains billowing in the breeze, where I could sit comfortably and read a book.

I’ve come to like going to Walmart, for the simplest and most humbling reason.

I have ventured into the world of Harry Potter over and over again, and every time I finish the series, I feel like I’ve learned another life lesson. So I just want to say thank you to J.K. Rowling for the gift she gave us.

I don’t get out much — and it’s not because I don’t have a sense of adventure or don’t care about learning about the larger world: It’s because I’m broke.

It’s Monday, 6 a.m. and Sarah, 30, wakes up — as she does five days a week (but really, it’s seven, because the body is a fickle thing).

In a culture focused on the importance and superiority of romantic attraction and relationships — a culture aromantics might call alloromantic-centric — platonic friendships (another form of relationship) are consistently undervalued.