It Looked Different on the Model: Epic Tales of Impending Shame and Infamy
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#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER
Everyone’s favorite Idiot Girl, Laurie Notaro, is just trying to find the right fit, whether it’s in the adorable blouse that looks charming on the mannequin but leaves her in a literal bind or in her neighborhood after she’s shamefully exposed at a holiday party by delivering a low-quality rendition of “Jingle Bells.” Notaro makes misstep after riotous misstep as she shares tales of marriage and family, including stories about the dog-bark translator that deciphers Notaro’s and her husband’s own “woofs” a little too accurately, the emails from her mother with “FWD” in the subject line (“which in email code means Forecasting World Destruction”), and the dead-of-night shopping sprees and Devil Dog–devouring monkeyshines of a creature known as “Ambien Laurie.” At every turn, Notaro’s pluck and irresistible candor set the New York Times bestselling author on a journey that’s laugh-out-loud funny and utterly unforgettable.
Booze Bag with a note of bile, I had just purchased a new mode of transportation. “How is this a surprise to anybody?” people would now say at my funeral. “One day, she’s walking; the next day, she won’t go anywhere without the wheelchair. She just gave up.” Suddenly, a little choking person I know popped up out of the wheelchair and ran to the bathroom, where she stayed for a long, long, long time, and when she came out, she was no longer the jolly drunk who had been stationed in the kitchen.
went down and had garden burgers at a restaurant by the river, sat outside, and watched two people behind us drink several pitchers of beer, then totally break up, complete with lots of crying from both parties. As soon as they left, the lady sitting behind me informed her dinner companions that “I can’t have a library card, because felons can’t have library cards. I’m learning a lot about this felon thing.” This was almost better than what I’d overheard a waitress say when someone asked her
car—which, remarkably, wasn’t registered to me—and showed the jackal who bore him that although he couldn’t be bothered to stop in at Walgreens to get a friggin’ card and a stuffed animal, a son’s love is always worth making a rap sheet a couple of lines longer. That morning, I even looked behind the folding chair I also had on the porch for the twenty-pound pot of flowers, just in case I had misplaced it. But you know what? There’s no misplacing trees. I mean, you can gasp and shake your head
lived. One hundred fifty of them, and that was only what was listed on his feedback, which most likely was a slim margin of how many auctions he had actually won. He had not purchased one single thing aside from kitchen timers, and the 150 he had collected were in the past two weeks alone. That’s more than ten times a day. That’s a lot of brownies. I wasn’t the only one who thought it was odd. Just to make sure it wasn’t me that the scenario wasn’t making sense to, I ran the facts and only the
laughed. We laughed, too, and kept laughing all the way into the cab, especially when I turned to take one more look at the dog as we pulled away and, in a pile of leftover snow, she was making her signature move on the side of the building. Where Everyone Can Hear You Scream I will do anything to prevent you from ringing my doorbell. Honestly. I’m not fooling around. If I see you heading toward my front door with your finger aimed at the doorbell, I’ll fly off the couch like there’s