You know when you’re making French toast and you’re whisking in what you think is cinnamon but it’s actually cumin? Yeah.
It’s at moments like this, when sprawled atop newspapers spray painting a vegetable crate I CARRIED HOME, that I pause and accept the fact that I’m turning into my mother.
Two hours later, I think I’m starting to get the hang of it.
(classified advertisement, New York Review of Books)
Exchange of Letters, Wendy Cope(via sketchofthepast)