By Eugenie Seifer Olson
Dive into the occasionally attractive, occasionally sinister, regularly hilarious global of affection and motion figures within the toy with Eugenie Seifer, the quirky, clever new writer for Avon alternate. Toby Morris is 25 and prepared for a few pleasure. Her task at a wide toy corporation is lengthy on crammed animals, radio–controlled racers, and task units, yet brief on actual pride. whilst her former artwork tuition blood brother lands a role at a neighborhood television station and Toby tunes into the weekend information, she quickly unearths all of the pleasure she'd ever requested for––through an infatuation with a tender, good-looking weatherman. As she slowly turns into captivated with Doppler radar, hurricane trajectories, and cloud hide, Toby starts off to ship him nameless poems ("if you're keen on those poems/and the emotions I speak/please put on your eco-friendly tie/on Thursday subsequent week) and letters commence flying. it kind of feels as if Toby has virtually chanced on her real love, until eventually a botched prank leaves Toby pondering how she'll ever climate the hurricane. yet what is bobbing up for Toby is anything no weekend weatherman may well ever are expecting.
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When it came time to critique our grayscale paintings of a still life, she was ornery and red in the face. Our teacher, a man who would have been a brilliant artist and teacher if he hadn’t been so consistently drunk, pointed to Jenna’s painting and said amusedly, “Interesting use of color here. It seems like most of the class sees this as a warm color and used reds to warm up their grays. ” Jenna said nothing, and he quickly moved on to another painting, but when I found her sitting sullenly in the bathroom after class, she clued me in.
I can’t say right here. ” “You better. All right, I have to leave for a lunch meeting. I’ll be sure to get the tofu quotient for you,” she says, snorting as she hangs up. Kerrin works as a grant writer in the cancer prevention research branch of University of Pennsylvania Hospital’s oncology department. She is one of those people who have the unfortunate combination of being good at something that offers them no discernable pleasure. It isn’t the research or the writing that she dislikes; it’s the altogether peculiar environment of her workplace that she finds so irksome.
P. Cody,” she says, nodding. “Meteorologist, right? ” “Yes, really cute,” I answer, steeling myself for the pronouncement that she’s already dating him. “Hmmm. Well, I know he lives in Delaware,” she begins. ” I scrunch up my nose in displeasure. Everyone I ever knew who hailed from Delaware was either dead-eyed or crazy-eyed. Dead-eyed resulted from too little mental stimulation and too many trips to Home Depot and chain restaurants. Crazy-eyed was usually the result of some kind of weird religious fervor and meant that you could see a person’s entire iris all the way around.
Babe in Toyland by Eugenie Seifer Olson