Hating Natalie

“You, you blab on about the economy all the time! You talk about when you were little, and in this, this annoying little kid’s voice that you think is enigmatic and... And God, you’re thirty-two years old! How can your stories possibly start with ‘The day before my ninth birthday?’ You don’t even remember what you had for lunch yesterday!”

Natalie wavered. “Tuna fish.”
“What?”
“I had tuna fish for lunch.”
“Oh.” Guilt made him drop an octave. “Was it good?”