I'm still mulling the idea of having a "Joe Mammy Presents" kinda collection of short stories and essays. To that end, here's a little bit o' happiness for your general consumption.

Every lie has the promise of "always" woven somewhere within its fabric...

"Maggie, seriously, how can you read this stuff?"

Maggie was getting ready for bed and only slightest glimpse of her bathrobe would dance in the doorway. "What are you talking about?"

"These horrible romance books you read - they're awful."

"And yet every night you manage to read a little bit more to complain about to me," she called back over the running water.

"You're a college-educated woman. When I met you, you were reading Proust."

"And you had hair, Harvey. But you don't hear me complaining."

"I can't do anything about my hair, but you're choosing to read this garbage."

"So are you."

"I'm not reading it!"

"Then how come last night you were critiquing the - how did you put it, 'contrived devices that brought Imelda and Franco to French Riviera'?"

"Well it must be obvious if I can pick up on how bad it is just by glimpsing at it."

"You know what, I haven't said anything, but I've noticed my bookmark's gotten moved more than once."

"I must have dropped it or--"

"And then I found it in the bathroom."

"Hey, I couldn't find my Sports Illustrated..."

"Yes, let's talk about substandard writing, shall we? If I read one more straight-faced comparison of football to war I think I'll go out of my head."

"Football is war!"

"And Imelda and Franco have a love that transcends everything, so just leave it alone."

Harvey took off his glasses irritably and rolled over on his side, facing away from the open door. He pulled the comforter over his shoulder and grumbled to himself "Besides, any idiot could tell the she belongs with Christian..."

-Joe