a magician asks you to pick a card - any card, in fact. you do. they ask you to put the card back in the pack - anywhere in the pack, in fact. you do. they walk away. ten years later, your wife gives birth to the six of clubs. “is this your card?” the midwife asks, in a familiar voice.
I’ve mastered the skill of feeling guilty for asking for anything
If you won’t sing in the car with me when we drive, we can’t be friends