Yikes Quotes

Are you here to freak me out in any other way?" "Nope." "This would include asking me for a date," I warned. "Babe, don't date," he replied. "You don't?" "Do tequila shots followed by 5 hours of sex count as a date? he asked. "Um... no," I answered. "Then I don't date." I smiled at him. Then, stupidly, I asked. "You can have sex for 5 hours?" He smiled at me. Yikes. Moving on.

Yikes. Yahoo. Yum.

I wondered if I would appear on a temple wall painting someday. A blonde Egyptian girl with purple highlights running sideways through the palm trees, screaming "Yikes!" in hieroglyphics as Neith chased after me. The thought of some poor archaeologist trying to figure that out almost lifted my spirits.

Yikes! I thought. Yikes, yikes, yikes! I am eloquent in times of danger.

Mom turned but did a double take. "Where did you get that necklace from?" I touched the pendant. "A friend." "A boy?" Yikes. "He's a friend who's a boy." Her mouth twitched in amusement and her gaze left the necklace. "First roses, and now a necklace? Are you sure Landon isn't you boyfriend?" "This wasn't from him, Mom." "So you have two boyfriends?" "No, Mom!" I almost shouted. "Neither of them is my boyfriend. Trust me. They're just boys who are friends. No connecting of words going on... or connecting of anything else, for that matter." She stared at me. "Hmm." Then she left my room. She was so weird sometimes.

At least there's nothing scary about him and hopefully he doesn't see anything scary in me. We go way back, to summer camp. We KNOW each other. People I don't know just make me want to say YIKES! I'll take history over mystery any day of the week.

He watched in awe as she stacked up an enormous armload of music. "There," she finished, slapping Frank Zappa's Greatest Hits on top of the pile. "That should do for a start." "You are a music lover," said the wide-eyed cashier. "No, I'm a kleptomaniac." And she dashed out the door. He was so utterly shocked that it took him a moment to run after her. With a meaningful nod in the direction of the astounded Cahills, she barreled down the cobblestone street with her load. "Fermati!" shouted the cashier, scrambling in breathless pursuit. Nellie let a few CDs drop and watched with satisfaction over her shoulder as the clerk stopped to pick them up. The trick would be to keep the chase going just long enough for Amy and Dan to search Disco Volante. Yikes, she reflected suddenly, I'm starting to think like a Cahill.... And if she was nuts enough to hang around this family, it was only going to get worse.

Part 3: The Fifth member a) Find them b) Lure them in c) Shakespeare doc gets approved as a full society d) SUCCESS 'Lure them in?' I said. 'Yikes,' said Pip. Jason chuckled. 'Sounds like we're trying to persuade people to join a cult.

I came up with the idea for this book on an I-10 off-ramp in early 2016, and I never imagined what it would turn out to be. I mean, at that point I couldn’t imagine what 2016 itself would turn out to be. Yikes. For months after November, I gave up on writing this book. Suddenly what was supposed to be a tongue-in-cheek parallel universe needed to be escapist, trauma-soothing, alternate-but-realistic reality. Not a perfect world—one still believably fucked up, just a little better, a little more optimistic. I wasn’t sure I was up to the task. I hoped I was. What I hoped to do, and what I hope I have done with this book by the time you’ve finished it, my dear reader, is to be a spark of joy and hope you needed.

He was a glass half full kind of person and she was...what? The glass is going to break before you can even pour kind of person. Yikes.

What to go out with me tonight after work, Vaughan?” … “You asking me out on a date, Lydia?” “Yes,” I said. “I am.” “Babe, I’d love to.” His hand rose to the back of my neck, stroking, drawing me closer. Hot damn, did he have the moves. The man turned my mind to mush. “Something you need to know,” he said. “Before tonight.” “What’s that?” “I put out on the first date,” he told me with a perfectly straight face. “That okay with you?” “Oh, I’m counting on it” … “I mean…it would have been so awkward if you expected me to respect you for your mind or something. Yikes, how embarrassing. Between you and me, I’m really only interested in getting into your pants.” The corner of his mouth twitched. “I’m sure you’re a nice guy and all, but, priorities, you know?” “I know.” The man’s smile would have made a nun think twice. I never stood a chance.

This particular brand of tyrant, though. Yikes,” Willa said. “I can’t take him seriously. He’s going to burn out before the first primary.” “Don’t count on it. There’s a lot of white folks out there hanging on to their God-given right to look down on some other class of people. They feel it slipping away and they’re scared. This guy says he’s bringing back yesterday, even if he has to use brass knuckles to do it, and drag women back to the cave by their hair. He’s a bully, everybody knows that. But he’s their bully.

Thought of Riordan. Thought of a big hand wrapping around my shaft, sliding up and down, pumping hard...harder. The head of my cock leaked a single salty tear to slick my own hand's efforts. Yikes. Think of Bruce. Yeah. Better. Safer. Saner...

Listen you little turd, don’t tell me my business. It’s not worth the risk," the Old Man snarled. "But Green … Yikes, that stings!

Look at yourself on the day that you graduated from college, then look at yourself today. I did that recently and it was like, 'Yikes! What the hell happened?

There was no way Penny would go to House and let Sam see her. That would ruin everything. Sam would take one look at her and be like, "Yikes, never mind.

Will: Worry, worry, worry. Nico: Calm down, probably won’t die. Will: Worry. Trogs. Dangerous. Yikes. Nico: Trogs good. Nice hats.

We thought Forever-Player Lando was bad. Head-Over-Heels Lando might be ten times worse.” “Yikes. Hadn’t thought of that.

Yikes', I said. Yikes? I sounded like a gum-popping babysitter trying to relate to her favorite Hot Divorced Dad. Which was sort of how I felt.

Well then,' says Bliss, 'Man. Yikes. Jeepers. Am I right?

Yikes, this was going to require every bit of motherly instinct she possessed.  Elisabeth took a deep breath… and nothing happened. Shit, damn, okay, she’d fall back on what she was good at when it came to her children, part drill-sergeant, and part crazy, suicidal cop on the edge.  Hey, you should always go with what works, and play to your strengths. 

If a man lies with a man as one lies with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination. They must be put to death. Yikes. Thank God this one doesn’t seem to apply to women either. I’m disappointed God is so homophobic that he forgot about lesbians, but I guess I would rather be forgotten than put to death.

Everyone turned towards me. The two female vamps smiled, most unpleasantly. They looked at me like I was a piece of candy and they wondered what sort of center I had. Soft and gooey, or hard with a nut in the middle? I'd had men undress me with their eyes, but I'd never had anything trying to picture what I'd look like with my skin off. Yikes.

She blushed crimson and then almost died of shame, because— God, she had forced a married man, a father, to kiss her. Now people thought that he was having an affair. His wife was probably crying into her pillow. His kids would grow up with horrible daddy issues and become serial killers.

Dating. The word alone roused fear in her, confusion as to how to begin, and—worst—a disgusting, chilling whisper that assured her she wasn’t attractive enough or woman enough or whatever enough to keep a man long term. Yikes. Um . . . no wonder she’d been hiding behind dowdy clothes and her beloved spinster persona. It was time, past time, to stop hiding. To move beyond the scars Harrison had left. To repair her self-image. And to step into the future wearing a pair of fashionable high heels.

I do not go to church. I don’t go to Christian church or Jew church or any other church. I don’t go to church at all. Not ever. A perfect Sunday for me is spent drinking green tea while reading the Sunday New York Times. Yikes! Why don’t I just turn in my Al-Qaeda membership form and call it a day? As if that wasn’t bad enough, not only do I not go to church: I don’t believe in God. How can I say the Pledge of Allegiance if I don’t believe in God? How can I spend our American currency which pledges “In God We Trust?” How can I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, so help me God? Answer: I can’t. It’s a real problem. Don’t get me wrong – I’d like to believe in God. I wish I did, especially if He was the kind of God that thought America was #1. But I don’t, which to many people is the same as not believing in America. Up until recently, I thought those people were lunatics.

The hottest girl August has ever seen just took one look at her and said, “Yikes.

Yikes. You breathe ammonia?

Like sandpaper missiles tearing through my vagina.” “Yikes.

yikes

Someone gave it to me as a gift.” Yikes. Getting a book called How to Survive a Horror Movie as a gift? That’s like your spouse signing you up for life insurance “which you’ll probably never even need.

Try this way of picturing a human lifespan. The National Football League’s Dallas Cowboys’ stadium holds 105,000 people. Now, imagine that you’re watching life go by down on the field, and every day you watch that life go by from a different seat. You don’t even get a third of the way around. Before you’ve settled into a third of the seats, you’d be dead. And, that’s if you had a good run, eighty-two-plus years. Yikes!

If you’re like most people, you’ll do one thing for two to three years, then something else for two to three years, and then—somewhere in that five- to seven-year distance from Yale—you’ll see a need to fully commit to something that’s a longer-term project: graduate school, for example, or a job you need to stick with for some real time. The question is: where do you need to be with yourself such that when the time comes to ‘cast your whole vote,’ you’re reasonably confident you’re not being either fear-based or ego-driven in your choice . . . that the journey you’re on is really yours, and not someone else’s? If you think of your first few jobs after Yale in this way—holistically and in terms of your growth as a person rather than as ladder rungs to a specific material outcome—you’re less likely to wake up at age forty-five married to a stranger.” Yikes!

He had kissed me. Put his demon tongue in my mouth. I had kissed him back. Yet I had a boyfriend. Adam. Who I believe I’ve mentioned. More than once. Boyfriend named Adam, demon named Levi kissing me—that pretty much meant I had cheated on my boyfriend, didn’t it? Didn’t mean to do that. Yikes. I bit my fingernails and knocked on Brandon’s door and tried to rationalize my way around it. It hadn’t been a premeditated kiss. It hadn’t been initiated by me. Did that really make it cheating? Or just a sort of accidental meeting of the mouths? Shouldn’t there be like a five-second rule, anyway? Like dropping food on the floor. If you retrieve it immediately, you can still eat it. If the kiss lasted less than say, a minute, it didn’t count. Right?

Mistakes happen when I space out, once when throwing away a chewing gum wrapper, I realized I had thrown the gun away. Yikes! after wrapping a fish with Saran wrap, I realize that I had put the Saran wrap in the fridge and the fish in the drawer. Yikes!

casual hookups, and felt no shame in having a strong sexuality that I needed to burn off on a willing victim occasionally. I mean, I was no Black Widow, but I definitely didn’t mind taking advantage of a guy’s body. But this guy? Yikes. He made me feel fragile. Delicate

She soaked her feet in salt and stared up at the stars and wondered whether drowning would hurt.

Where were you this morning?” Peter demands. I cross my arms and try to stand tall. It’s hard, because I’m so short and he really is tall. “You’re one to talk.” Peter huffs, “At least I texted you! I’ve called you like seventeen times. Why is your phone off?” “You know we’re not allowed to have our phones on at school!” He huffs, “Lara Jean, I waited in front of your house for twenty minutes.” Yikes. “Well, I’m sorry.” “How’d you get to school? Sanderson?” “Yes.” Peter exhales. “Listen, if you were pissed I couldn’t come over last night, you should’ve just called and said so instead of the shit you pulled this morning.” In a small voice I say, “Well, what about that shit you pulled last night?” A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Did you just say ‘shit’? It sounds really funny coming out of your mouth.

Ichecked myself over nervously. I had never been the new kid before, and I wanted at least one friend before the day was done. One besides Josh. Girlfriends were a necessity. Plenty had eyed me up at the ball but none had been brave enough to talk to me. Not even when I danced with Josh. I smiled unintentionally, thinking about Josh. Perhaps he would be my only friend. I could live with that, couldn’t I? No. Girlfriends were a necessity. Who would I toil over Josh with? And who would I talk about Briton with? No, I needed fiends. I surveyed my gray skinny jeans, black-and-white striped three-quarter-sleeve shirt, and knee-high beige dress boots, and grinned. I looked like a city kid. Great. No one would want to hang with me. My long hair looked silky and fine, not thick and unruly like it truly was, and I had on too much makeup. Yikes.

Almost no one tolerates the exclusivity and supremacy of Christ these days, even some who profess to be Christians. The message of the cross is not politically correct—it’s the singularity of the gospel, on top of everything else, that bothers people. Can you imagine for a moment what might happen if a celebrity or political leader just said, “I’m a Christian and if you’re not, you’re going to hell”? Yikes! And then imagine if he said, “All the Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, and all the people who believe they can earn salvation, whether liberal Protestants or Roman Catholics, and all the Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses—you’re all going to eternal hell. But I care about you so much, I want to give you the gospel of Jesus Christ, because it is far more important than wars in the Middle East, terrorism, or any domestic policy.” You can’t be faithful and popular, so take your pick.

There is nothing yikes about mid-thirties. Mid-thirties is great. You don’t care about what people think about you, you have a more established career, and you’re in tune with your body, which means you don’t abuse it with late-night drinking and hangover cures. You get an honest night’s sleep and understand the importance of vitamins, drinking water, and exercise. And if you want to host a dinner party, you don’t have to ask people to bring something because you can provide the food yourself.

Step one: “Smile more.” No problem. I have a lovely smile. I catch a glimpse of myself in the glass of my fireplace and try it out. Hmm. I try again with teeth. Yikes. But I can do this. Of course I can. How hard can it be to smile? Chapter 3 Turns out, smiling is hard. I have a new appreciation for models. I’d always assumed it was easy to stand there and let someone take photos of you. I now understand it is not easy. My smile lands somewhere between “feeding hyena” and “painful constipation.

He’s threatening us!” Tempest flailed. She slammed Wasp on the back so hard the communal eyeball popped right out of her socket. Wasp snatched it—and with a terrible show of fumbling, intentionally chucked it over her shoulder, right into my lap. I screamed. The sisters screamed, too. Anger, now bereft of guidance, swerved all over the road, sending my stomach into my esophagus. “He’s stolen our eye!” cried Tempest. “We can’t see!” “I have not!” I yelped. “It’s disgusting!” Meg whooped with pleasure. “THIS. IS. SO. COOL!” “Get it off!” I squirmed and tilted my hips, hoping the eye would roll away, but it stayed stubbornly in my lap, staring up at me with the accusatory glare of a dead catfish. Meg did not help. Clearly, she didn’t want to do anything that might interfere with the coolness of us dying in a faster-than-light car crash. “He will crush our eye,” Anger cried, “if we don’t recite our verses!” “I will not!” “We will all die!” Wasp said. “He is crazy!” “I AM NOT!” “Fine, you win!” Tempest howled. She drew herself up and recited as if performing for the people in Connecticut ten miles away: “A dare reveals the path that was unknown!” Anger chimed in: “And bears destruction; lion, snake-entwined!” Wasp concluded: “Or else the princeps never be o’erthrown!” Meg clapped. I stared at the Gray Sisters in disbelief. “That wasn’t doggerel. That was terza rima! You just gave us the next stanza of our actual prophecy!” “Well, that’s all we’ve got for you!” Anger said. “Now give me the eye, quick. We’re almost at camp!” Panic overcame my shock. If Anger couldn’t stop at our destination, we’d accelerate past the point of no return and vaporize in a colorful streak of plasma across Long Island. And yet that still sounded better than touching the eyeball in my lap. “Meg! Kleenex?” She snorted. “Wimp.” She scooped up the eye with her bare hand and tossed it to Anger. Anger shoved the eye in her socket. She blinked at the road, yelled “YIKES!” and slammed on the brakes so hard my chin hit my sternum.

Depends,” I answered. “Are you here to tell me Ginger owes you three million dollars now?” “Nope.” “Are you here about Ginger at all?” “Nope.” “Are you here to freak me out in any other way?” “Nope.” “This would include asking me for a date,” I warned. “Babe, don’t date,” he replied. This was a surprise so I tipped my head to the side. “You don’t?” “Do tequila shots followed by five hours of sex count as a date?” he asked. “Um… no,” I answered. “Then I don’t date.” I smiled at him. Then, stupidly, I asked, “You can have sex for five hours?” He smiled at me. Yikes. Moving on.

I truly don’t mind staying in the guest room. I’d hate to make things awkward.” Daddy starts to answer him, but Margot gets there first. “No, it’s totally fine,” she assures Ravi. “Let’s go get the rest of our stuff out of the car.” The second they leave, Kitty and I turn to each other. At the same time we say, “Oh my God.” Kitty ponders, “Why do they need to stay in the same room together? Do they have to have sex that bad?” “Enough, Kitty,” Daddy says, his tone sharper than I’ve heard him use with her. He turns and leaves, and I hear the sound of his office door closing. His office is where he goes when he is really mad. Ms. Rothschild gives her a stern look and follows after him. Kitty and I look at each other again. “Yikes,” I say. “He didn’t have to snap,” Kitty says sullenly. “I’m not the one whose boyfriend is staying in my bed.” “He didn’t mean it.” I tuck her against me, wrapping my arms around her bony shoulders. “Gogo has a lot of nerve, huh?” She’s very impressive, my sister. I just feel sorry for Daddy. This isn’t a fight he’s used to having--or any kind of fight at all, really. Of course I text Peter right away and tell all. He sends back a lot of wide-eyed emojis. And: Do you think your dad would let us stay in the same room?? Which I ignore.

Lara Jean?” “Yes?” I peek around the door and it’s Lucas Krapf, wearing a thin V-neck sweater in brilliant blue and stone-colored khakis. “I’ve had this for a while now…I wans’t going to say anything, but then I thought maybe you’d want it back.” He puts a pink envelope in my hand. It’s my letter. So Lucas got his, too. I drop it into my locker, make a yikes face at myself in the mirror, and then close the door. “So you’re probably wondering what this is all about,” I begin. And then I immediately falter. “It’s um, well, I wrote it a long time ago, and--” “You don’t have to explain.” “Really? You’re not curious?” “No. It was just really nice to get a letter like that. I was actually pretty honored.” I let out a relieved sigh and sag against my locker. Why is Lucas Krapf just so exactly right? He knows how to say the perfect thing. And then Lucas gives me a half grimace, half smile. “But the thing is…” He lowers his voice. “You know I’m gay, right?” “Oh, right, totally,” I say, trying not to sound disappointed. “No, I totally knew.” So Peter was right after all. Lucas smiles. “You’re so cute,” he says, and I perk up again. Then he says, “Listen, can you not tell anybody, though? I mean, I’m out, but I’m not out out yet. You know what I mean?” “Totally,” I say, super confident.

They say everything happens for a reason. I can see the truth within that now. If it was not for all the mishaps, all the drama, all the heartache, all the stress that I have endured within the last six months I would not have the book that I have just published, nor the works for the next two books that I am currently working on. If I would have had my cake to eat it as well I may still be stuck where was six months ago. Or worst I may have a regular job. YIKES!!! But in retrospect everything that has happened to me in the last six month I now take with wisdom and a thankful heart for all of the turbulence within my life, as crazy as that sounds. Sometimes it is when you hit rock bottom that you can begin to reach for the stars and beyond. Today I shed the last of my painful tears and I released myself of the countless disappointments within my heart. I am now totally focused on my path. I have already reached many plateaus to meet my ultimate goal of being an accomplished author. I have tried it many times and now it is my time to shine. I have full knowledge of what to do and how to execute my master plan. Within time my words will ascend to the four corners of the universe and I will be on my way to travel the world and see all the great sites this beautiful planet has to offer.

We see the old women again. A laugh that is a little too forced and shrill jazz music have made them start. One of them whispers, worried: “Perhaps ... we should go and see ...” “The youngsters don’t like it when we are obviously watching them, and besides, what can we do? It’s us, the adults, with our suspicions who put evil thoughts in their minds.” The other lady (hesitant): “All the same, my dear, we’re meant to be chaperoning them.” We see the ballroom where about twenty couples are holding each other tightly and dancing a sensual tango in the semidarkness. Nadine, the young lady of the house, wearing very modern clothes, notices her mother and her aunt coming over to them, and tells everyone in a playful whisper: “Yikes! The cops are here!

You’re good,” he said, and he smiled a little. Just then, Madison showed up. “Oh, are you two playing?” she asked. “Kind of,” I said. “Did you pick Bruce?” she asked. “I did. He’s the best one,” I told her. “The best one today,” Timothy clarified. “Daddy’s home!” Madison suddenly said, and Timothy started to vibrate with, what, happiness? Excitement? Fear? “Daddy,” he said, now smiling, and he stumbled out of the room. “Jasper’s here,” Madison said to me. “Yikes,” I said. “Okay.” I walked as close to Madison as I could without it being a three-legged race, and we found Timothy lifted into the air by Senator Roberts. There was genuine happiness on the man’s face, and this softened me temporarily, which was exactly what I needed to get through this moment.

It had been almost exactly four months since we’d met; four months since we’d locked glances in that bar; four months since his eyes and hair had made my knees turn to overcooked noodles. It had been four months since he’d failed to call me the next day, week, month. I’d moved on, of course, but the rugged image of Marlboro Man had left an indelible mark on my psyche. But I’d just begun my Chicago planning before I’d met him that night and had continued the next day. And now, at the end of April, I was just about set to go. “Oh, hi,” I said nonchalantly. I was leaving soon. I didn’t need this guy. “How’ve you been?” he continued. Yikes. That voice. It was gravelly and deep and whispery and dreamy all at the same time. I didn’t know until that moment that it had already set up permanent residence in my bones. My marrow remembered that voice. “Good,” I replied, focusing my efforts on appearing casual, confident, and strong. “I’m just gearing up to move to Chicago, actually.” “No kidding?” he said. “When are you going?” “Just a couple of weeks,” I replied. “Oh…” He paused. “Well…would you like to go out to dinner this week?” This was always the awkward part. I could never imagine being a guy. “Um, sure,” I said, not really seeing the point of going out with him, but also knowing it was going to be next to impossible for me to turn down a date with the first and only cowboy I’d ever been attracted to. “I’m pretty free all this week, so--” “How ’bout tomorrow night?” he cut in. “I’ll pick you up around seven.” He didn’t know it at the time, but that single take-charge moment, his instantaneous transformation from a shy, quiet cowboy to this confident, commanding presence on the phone, affected me very profoundly. My interest was officially ablaze.

While I was deep in my fantasy, in yet another episode of perfect timing, Marlboro Man called from the road. “Hey,” he said, the mid-1990s spotty cell phone service only emphasizing the raspy charm of his voice. “Oh! Just the person I want to talk to,” I said, grabbing paper and a pen. “I have a question for you--” “I bought your wedding present today,” Marlboro Man interrupted. “Huh?” I said, caught off guard. “Wedding present?” For someone steeped in the proper way of doing things, I was ashamed that a wedding gift for Marlboro Man had never crossed my mind. “Yep,” he said. “And you need to hurry up and marry me so I can give it to you.” I giggled. “So…what is it?” I asked. I couldn’t even imagine. I hoped it wasn’t a tennis bracelet. “You have to marry me to find out,” he answered. Yikes. What was it? Wasn’t the wedding ring itself supposed to be the present? That’s what I’d been banking on. What would I ever get him? Cuff links? An Italian leather briefcase? A Montblanc pen? What do you give a man who rides a horse to work every day? “So, woman,” Marlboro Man said, changing the subject, “what did you want to ask me?” “Oh!” I said, focusing my thoughts back to the reception. “Okay, I need you to name your absolute favorite foods in the entire world.” He paused. “Why?” “I’m just taking a survey,” I answered. “Hmmm…” He thought for a minute. “Probably steak.” Duh. “Well, besides steak,” I said. “Steak,” he repeated. “And what else?” I asked. “Well…steak is pretty good,” he answered. “Okay,” I responded. “I understand that you like steak. But I need a little more to work with here.” “But why?” he asked. “Because I’m taking a survey,” I repeated. Marlboro Man chuckled. “Okay, but I’m really hungry right now, and I’m three hours from home.” “I’ll factor that in,” I said. “Biscuits and gravy…tenderloin…chocolate cake…barbecue ribs…scrambled eggs,” he said, rattling off his favorite comfort foods. Bingo, I thought, smiling. “Now, hurry up and marry me,” he commanded. “I’m tired of waiting on you.” I loved it when he was bossy.

Need to Be Honest about My Issues Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. See if there is any offensive way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting. (PSALM 139:23 – 24) Thought for the Day: Avoiding reality never changes reality. Mostly I’m a good person with good motives, but not always. Not when I just want life to be a little more about me or about making sure I look good. That’s when my motives get corrupted. The Bible is pretty blunt in naming the real issue here: evil desires. Yikes. I don’t like that term at all. And it seems a bit severe to call my unglued issues evil desires, doesn’t it? But in the depths of my heart I know the truth. Avoiding reality never changes reality. Sigh. I think I should say that again: Avoiding reality never changes reality. And change is what I really want. So upon the table I now place my honesty: I have evil desires. I do. Maybe not the kind that will land me on a 48 Hours Mystery episode, but the kind that pull me away from the woman I want to be. One with a calm spirit and divine nature. I want it to be evident that I know Jesus, love Jesus, and spend time with Jesus each day. So why do other things bubble to the surface when my life gets stressful and my relationships get strained? Things like … Selfishness: I want things my way. Pride: I see things only from my vantage point. Impatience: I rush things without proper consideration. Anger: I let simmering frustrations erupt. Bitterness: I swallow eruptions and let them fester. It’s easier to avoid these realities than to deal with them. I’d much rather tidy my closet than tidy my heart. I’d much rather run to the mall and get a new shirt than run to God and get a new attitude. I’d much rather dig into a brownie than dig into my heart. I’d much rather point the finger at other people’s issues than take a peek at my own. Plus, it’s just a whole lot easier to tidy my closet, run to the store, eat a brownie, and look at other people’s issues. A whole lot easier. I rationalize that I don’t have time to get all psychological and examine my selfishness, pride, impatience, anger, and bitterness. And honestly, I’m tired of knowing I have issues but having no clue how to practically rein them in on a given day. I need something simple. A quick reality check I can remember in the midst of the everyday messies. And I think the following prayer is just the thing: God, even when I choose to ignore what my heart is saying to me, You know my heart. I bring to You this [and here I name whatever feeling or thoughts I have been reluctant to acknowledge]. Forgive me. Soften my heart. Make it pure. Might that quick prayer help you as well? If so, stop what you are doing —just for five minutes — and pray these or similar words. When I’ve prayed for the Lord to interrupt my feelings and soften my heart, it’s amazing how this changes me. Dear Lord, help me to remember to actually bring my emotions and reactions to You. I want my heart reaction to be godly. Thank You for grace and for always forgiving me. In Jesus’ name. Amen.

Yikes, I hope it hadn’t given him the scoots. That might get nasty.

But you knew my mother. She was your neighbor—” “This is an official Clave investigation.” Jace cut her off. “I can always come back with the Silent Brothers.” “Oh, for the—” Dorothea glanced at her door, then at Jace and Clary. “I suppose you might as well come in,” she said, finally. “I’ll tell you what I can.” She started toward the door, then halted on the threshold, glaring. “But if you tell anyone I helped you, Shadowhunter, you’ll wake up tomorrow with snakes for hair and an extra pair of arms.” “That might be nice, an extra pair of arms,” Jace said. “Handy in a fight.” “Not if they’re growing out of your . . .” Dorothea paused and smiled at him, not without malice. “Neck.” “Yikes,” said Jace mildly. “Yikes is right, Jace Wayland.

But it was taking forever. I was drooling hard as Cindy ate her chicken. I got impatient, so I reached into the furnace and pulled out the chicken before it was done. I didn’t bother blowing on it or anything, I was too hungry. I bit into the semi-cooked chicken meat. It was super hot, and it seared my tongue. “AHHHH!! Hssssssss!” I screamed and then hissed. I accidentally dropped my chicken on the grass. Cindy looked over to me. “What’s wrong?!” “Yikes! I burnt my tongue a bit. Now I know how Lucky felt.” “Oh, are you okay?” “I think so,” I said as I picked up my chicken. It was covered in grass and dirt. “Ew… it’s all dirty…” “Here, have some of my chicken. We can share,” Cindy suggested. I inspected my chicken further and shrugged. “It’s okay, dirt don’t hurt,” I said as I dusted off my semi-cooked chicken. “You’re still going to eat that?” Cindy asked with big o’ eyes. “Yeah, I can’t waste food.” “I guess you’re right.” I raised the chicken up to my mouth. The smell of dirt and grass filled my nostrils and I gagged a bit.

attitude.

you will be sent home. No exceptions. Zero second chances.” The last sentence made my stomach flip-flop. I knew all the rules and had never been in trouble at school before, but what if I messed up somehow? “Yikes,” Jill whispered to me. “She will never not scare me.

Scorpios, apparently, make great lovers. Yikes.

Ew, he’s not my guy,” I said. “Fine, that guy you married that one time … Fred?” “George,” I said. “Weasley?” “Huh?” I looked up, confused. “Yikes, not a Harry Potter fan. You lose all cool points for that.” “I’m so confused. What are we even talking about?” Darius sighed.

57. Every Time You Surprise Yourself…You Inspire Yourself SAS selection is designed to test you. Any mental flaw, any physical failing will be exposed by the relentless series of challenges aimed at finding your breaking point. Lung-bursting cross-mountain marches through the snow, uphill sprints, carrying another recruit in a fireman’s lift up and down steep hills, often in driving rain, sometimes in sub-zero temperatures. As selection goes on, these ‘beasting’ sessions get harder and harder. And yet I also found that the more of them I came through in one piece (albeit exhausted and battered), the more easily I could cope with them. It was the SAS way of testing our mental resolve through physical battering. Selection is all about realizing that the pain never lasts for ever. And every time I was tested and I hung on in there, the better I understood that it was just a question of doing it again - one more time - until someone eventually said it was the end, and I had passed. I now know that unless you really, truly test yourself, you’ll never have any idea just how capable you can be. And with each small achievement, your confidence will grow. Most people never reach their limit because they are never sufficiently tested. This means I’ve got two good pieces of news for you. The first is that whenever you do something beyond your ‘comfort zone’ and realize you are still standing, the more you will believe that the impossible is actually possible. And on the road to success, belief is everything. And the second piece of news is that we all have much further to push ourselves than we might initially imagine. Inside us all, just waiting to be tested, is a better, bolder, braver version of who we think we are. All you have to do is give it an opportunity to be unleashed. So pick big targets and surprise yourself with how capable you really are deep down. Remember David and Goliath? Rather than David, the young shepherd boy, looking at this giant of a warrior and thinking, ‘Yikes, he’s huge, I’m beat’ - he thought, ‘With a target that big, how can I possibly miss!’ Success, in life and adventure, is dependent on the retraining of our mind.

Inside us all, just waiting to be tested, is a better, bolder, braver version of who we think we are. All you have to do is give it an opportunity to be unleashed. So pick big targets and surprise yourself with how capable you really are deep down. Remember David and Goliath? Rather than David, the young shepherd boy, looking at this giant of a warrior and thinking, ‘Yikes, he’s huge, I’m beat’ - he thought, ‘With a target that big, how can I possibly miss!’ Success, in life and adventure, is dependent on the retraining of our mind.

ceremony rehearsal, and one of the groomsmen dared to suggest that Evan might want to take a small sedative before the real wedding, which, as you can imagine, did not go over well. Oh, and Francois threatened to quit halfway through the final menu tasting.” Harmony cringed. “Yikes.” “I think if Francois would have quit, I would have too.” I sighed. “I believe it. I’ve never seen you use the coffee table as an ottoman before.” I smiled and wiggled my toes. “I don’t know why not.” “Well, as you explained to me, this here is an authentic Jason Partillo design,” Harmony replied, a lilt in her voice as she gently needled me with her elbow. I laughed softly. “Are you trying to say that those of us who live in diva houses shouldn’t throw shoes?” She barked a laugh. “No. This Evan guy sounds like he left diva in the dust a long time ago and plowed straight into narcissistic jerk land.” “Can’t argue with that.” I closed my eyes, my head leaning against the back of the sofa. “Two days and then it’s over and they won’t be my problem anymore. I have fifteen weddings between now and June. That’s going to feel like a walk in the park compared to this nonsense.” “And in the meantime, you get the rest of the night off to spend with me and your bestie!” Harmony said. “Assuming I can stay awake, that is,” I replied, peeling my eyes open. “I should have left room in the schedule for a pre-dinner nap.” Harmony laughed and sprang off the sofa to continue getting ready. “Do you think I should wear my black tights with the red sweater dress, or can I get away with jeans? Is the place we’re going fancy fancy or fancy-ish?” I smiled at my sister’s nervous musings. She wasn’t one to ask for my fashion advice, mostly because I preferred my clothes hole-free and didn’t own anything with spikes or studs on it. While she could dress up when the situation warranted, Harmony tended toward a certain grunge-chic aesthetic with colorful streaks in her otherwise bleached-blonde hair, four piercings in each ear, and a penchant for artfully torn clothing and bomber jackets. And she’d recently added a small crystal stud to her nose. “It’s fancy-adjacent,” I told her. “Go with the leggings and dress.” Harmony nodded, even as her teeth worked nervously at her lower lip. I smiled. “She’s going to love you, Harmony. Stop stressing.” Holly Boldt, my good friend and fellow witch, was coming into the Seattle Haven to speak at a potion making conference, and we’d made plans

Beth Haldane peered anxiously into the hall mirror, on tiptoes as usual. She wasn't after perfection. There was no time for anything fancier than the speediest swipe of make-up. She had to get her son Jake off to school, and then get herself - yikes - to her first day in her new job

Noun: dog, Ralph, mistletoe, Oreo, education, taco, Mississippi, peace, music, pizza Pronoun: I, we, he, she, it, they, them, him, her, who, whom, whomever, that, which Verb: tumble, dictate, zigzag, is, are, was, were, enlist, inoculate, stab Adverb: speedily, tumultuously, harshly, dumbly, voraciously, democratically, tremulously, wherever, well, too Adjective: skinny, enthusiastic, dire, rueful, industrious, yellow, distasteful, Cuban, conservative, phat Preposition: off, on, in, out, over, through, to, under, above, about, throughout, with Conjunction: and, but, yet, so, however, neither, nor, either, or Interjection: Yikes! Whatever! Sheesh! Heck! Omigod! Awesome!

Yikes. Thank God this one doesn’t seem to apply to women either. I’m disappointed God is so homophobic that he forgot about lesbians, but I guess I would rather be forgotten than put to death.

Wow. So everyone gets to see how I've made all the mistakes in the world! See those covers of the first book? Yikes. I'm one of those people that when I decide to do something, I have to do something now! And thus the below awful first cover. Well, hopefully you like the illustrated ones!

With no proof whatsoever, just somehow knowing as 1,000 percent fact - I come from a long line of women who stayed in bed all day. Or who dreamed about it when society forced them to a luncheon or crop event. I can see in the pictures of the women on either side of my parentage that their eyes were searing fuck this into the camera, both in the fun-wink and the yikes-Reaper ways. I've always had a little postpartum sheen to my style, a little matted tangle and stained Henley for your nerve. There is a constant low voice encouraging me to untie the raft and drift out to sea. To float through space braless, the day's only assignment pretzels, porn, and regret.

Yikes…

Imagine entering the event and purposely let your anticipation generate some anxiety and doubt. As you notice your anxiety, practice accepting and wanting those feelings. “OK, I’m imagining myself standing in line at the bank, and now I’m anxious. Really anxious! Yikes, this is scary! But…good. I want this. Right this second I am practicing. This counts!” Linger with your anxiety. Don’t be in a rush to escape the feeling. Hang out with your distress. Give your body-&-mind time to respond to your message of, “I can handle this anxiety, and I want this.

SUGAR Because of the term “blood sugar,” many believe that sugar is the enemy. It is, but not the only one. All carbohydrates are composed of sugar. Starches—potatoes, bread, cereal, and the like—are simply a lot of sugar molecules strung together. Digestion quickly converts them to glucose. Starches raise your blood sugar as much as any sugar. Doubt it? The journal Diabetes Care states that whole-wheat bread will raise your blood sugar more rapidly than an equivalent quantity of table sugar. Yikes.

constricted, and I wished I knew what to say. “Yikes. That’s rough. How does that make you feel?” I tried to keep the inner therapist from breaking free, wanting to come across more as an understanding friend, but it wasn’t working. “Mad,” Lilly said, crossing her arms over her chest and slinking further down in her chair. “Upset. Livid. Like I want to run away from home and never speak

Carter?” This time it was Sato. He swore darkly. “Again? Seriously, this fucking girl.

And yikes. When it happens, the eruption shoots across the space he’s created by pulling me back and lands on my face, covering it like the most glorious glaze on my delighted donut face.

So,” Cacus growled. “Any last words?” “Help,” I said. “Yikes. Ouch. How are those? Oh, and Hermes is a way better salesman than you.

Wish there were a “good news” channel? I usually have news stations humming in the background to keep up with worldwide events, but that constant white noise is sometimes like a cloud descending on the home. I defined for Piper the term “pet peeve” a few years ago. “Got it, Mom,” she responded. “My ‘pet peeve’ then is Fox News.” Yikes. I turned the volume down after that one slapped me upside the head. From crazy politicians pushing treaties with terrorist nations to thugs trashing neighborhood Walgreens in the name of “free speech,” bad news is exhausting. Some days it would be nice just to hear about Joe Six Pack and his hardworking family and his kid who got an “A” in Algebra today. Jesus tells of weeds thrown by the enemy into a field of good seed. Those weeds remind me of all the bad news we hear about in the media. As the time draws nearer to the return of Jesus, the Bible says the hearts of man will become increasingly hardened and they will refuse to repent of their crimes (Rev. 9:21). Sorcery, murder, immorality, and theft will rise, while at the same time God’s followers are called to stand firm in righteousness. Both the good seed and the bad seed will grow to fullness, until the final harvest of the “wheat.” At the great harvest, according to the Word, the Lord will take up the weeds to burn them, while gathering the wheat unto Him. SWEET FREEDOM IN Action Today, stand strong in the midst of weeds; mute the droning on and on of constant bad news; and anticipate that this era’s closing comments get very good for believers!

Never ruffle the feathers of a spiteful woman because she will not only want to hurt you, but she will want to draw your blood. “Yikes,

Rokelou yike a chat.

Yikes! I love dogs but I’m not sure what I’ll be in for if I go there.

I’m just picking up a couple of components.” Kenzie gave a little yelp. “Yikes--that reminds me. Yesterday my boss asked me to pick something up for him out in the boondocks. I forgot until you said that. So if my dot falls off your watch, you’ll know why.” He smiled at her warmly as he bent his arm and rested it on the bottom of the window frame. The bicep under the flannel rounded up very nicely as he lifted a hand and chucked her gently under the chin. “Funny.” The friendly touch was unexpectedly intimate. In fact, it triggered a dangerous sensation of giving in. She smiled at him, feeling weak. His brown eyes were dark and warm. She felt herself blush under his steady gaze. Linc was the real deal. Maybe she didn’t have to be so tough all the time. It was okay to be protected. More than okay. Back when she’d had Tex at her side, she’d actually liked the feeling. Like all military working dogs, he’d been trained to maintain an invisible six-foot circle around her, and woe to anyone who crossed into it without her permission. Including guys she was dating. “Kenzie?” She snapped out of it. “Sorry. You knocked on my stupid spot.” “I’ll have to remember that.” She shook her head in mock dismay. “Please don’t.

To her surprise, Linc was waiting around the first curve on the road, listening to the radio. She could see his hand tapping a beat on the back of the other seat. Kenzie slowed her car to a stop when their windows lined up. He rolled his down. “Hey. How’d it go?” “No big deal. I handed the papers to his temp assistant. What the hell are you doing here?” Linc studied her face. “I wanted to see if the beacon I put on your car was working.” She should have known. “Is that necessary?” “The readout is on this.” He tapped the face of his watch. “I can’t see. And I don’t believe you.” Kenzie put her car into park, got out, and walked around. He turned his wrist to show her. “Check it out. Your dot merged into my dot.” “Isn’t that sweet.” He grinned. “It’s not a problem to remove the beacon if you don’t like it.” “No. It’s all right. You’re the only person who knows where I am most of the time now.” That didn’t seem to have occurred to him. “Really?” She nodded. “So where are you off to?” Kenzie shot him a mocking look. “You don’t have to ask, do you?” Linc laughed. “The beacon can’t read your mind.” She rolled her eyes. “Thank God for that. If you want to know, I was heading to the drugstore to print out some of the photos for Mrs. Corelli. Where are you going?” “Just running errands,” he said. “Need anything from the electronics store?” “I don’t think so.” “Okay. I’m just picking up a couple of components.” Kenzie gave a little yelp. “Yikes--that reminds me. Yesterday my boss asked me to pick something up for him out in the boondocks. I forgot until you said that. So if my dot falls off your watch, you’ll know why.” He smiled at her warmly as he bent his arm and rested it on the bottom of the window frame. The bicep under the flannel rounded up very nicely as he lifted a hand and chucked her gently under the chin. “Funny.” The friendly touch was unexpectedly intimate. In fact, it triggered a dangerous sensation of giving in. She smiled at him, feeling weak. His brown eyes were dark and warm. She felt herself blush under his steady gaze. Linc was the real deal. Maybe she didn’t have to be so tough all the time. It was okay to be protected. More than okay. Back when she’d had Tex at her side, she’d actually liked the feeling. Like all military working dogs, he’d been trained to maintain an invisible six-foot circle around her, and woe to anyone who crossed into it without her permission. Including guys she was dating. “Kenzie?” She snapped out of it. “Sorry. You knocked on my stupid spot.” “I’ll have to remember that.” She shook her head in mock dismay. “Please don’t. Let’s touch base around four or five o’clock.” He nodded and turned the key in the ignition. “Works for me.” His gaze stayed on her a moment longer. “Call me if you need anything.” “I will. Thanks.” She glanced back at the gray monolith a little distance behind them and her mouth tightened. But when her green gaze met Linc’s brown eyes, she managed a quick smile. He raised his left hand in a quick good-bye wave and eased his car ahead of hers, rolling up the window again. She watched him go, then got back into hers and drove on, turning off on the road to the firing range.

Boys never seemed stupider than when they were surprised by the bad behavior of other men.

It’s time for this brave witch to take a closer look. Hang on, Kitty, we’re going in! Listen…What’s that I hear those humans saying? “Trick a tree”? No one can trick a tree like me!” SWOOP. VROOM. ZOOM. “YIKES!” “Are you okay?” ‘A REAL human!’ “Sweet costume!” “That was quite a spill.” ‘I’m being touched by a human hand!!’ “I’ve always dreamed of flying…” ‘Flying??’ “Have I got a treat for you! Hop on!” “Some witches, the very brave ones, are not afraid of humans.” “And some humans, the very brave ones, are not afraid to fly.

Children as young as twelve to eighteen months can recognize brands, it went on, and are “strongly influenced” by advertising and marketing. Yikes!

Il n’est pas douteux – précisons-le de suite – qu'il y ait eu des monuments écrits antérieurs aux traités dont le Yiking est le troisième. Ces monuments ont été écrits, ou dessinés, ou sculptés, sur le « Toit du Monde », berceau unique de l’humanité, à l’aide de signes que toute l’humanité comprenait, avant qu’elle se fût divisée par des migrations diverses, et qu’elle eût ainsi perdu la conscience de sa totalité. Ce qu’est cette écriture unique, on ne le saura sans doute jamais qu’à l’aide d’approximatives appréciations ; car un paléographe ne reconstruira pas une écriture au moyen d’un jambage, comme Cuvier reconstruisait un mammouth au moyen d’une jambe. Mais c’est de cette écriture unique que découlent, à des époques concordantes, et par des procédés de déformations parallèles, les hiérogrammes Chinois et les hiéroglyphes Chaldéens (ou suméro-acadiens). Il est possible toutefois de déterminer les influences, toutes physiques, qui présidèrent à ces déformations. Sur ce Pamir, qui fut notre commun berceau, une même langue, une même graphie, toutes deux perdues, régnaient. Un jour, soit qu’un cataclysme ait amené sur ces altitudes le froid qui y règne aujourd’hui, soit que, à force de se pencher sur le bord rugueux des plateaux, la race humaine ait pris le vertige des plaines inconnues, un jour vint où les hommes, par les fleuves qui prenaient naissance aux plateaux primitifs, descendirent aux niveaux inférieurs. Ainsi ceux du Sud, les futurs Rouges, par le Dzangbo et le Sindh, ainsi ceux de l’Ouest, les futurs Blancs, par le Syr et l’Amou, ainsi ceux de l’Est, les futurs Jaunes, par le Hoangho et le Yangtzé, tous, sans regarder en arrière, quittèrent la montagne ancestrale qui fut le nombril du monde. Parmi eux, les vieillards et les savants emportèrent la Sagesse et la Tradition.

Um.” Oh, jeez, were his shoulders shaking? Yikes. “Ummm. Okay. Yeah, sure.” Should I pat his back or something? No. He might bite. And I wasn’t sure he’d had all his shots. His

This was his first trip on the Ossifar Distana, his first real splash in life. Look what it got him. Mister Smiff liked anonymity. He kept a low profile, often traveling under assumed names, claiming to be anything from a banker to a (very) successful life insurance salesman. He’d never broken the law, at least not irreparably. He was quite generous, well liked, sponsoring many charities anonymously – which is why it was so surprising to find him floating face down in the private spa in his apartment, murdered. He had been murdered, unless it was a freak shaving accident. Those old razors weren’t called cut-throats for nothing. Yikes.

The house was just one big room with a fireplace at one end. That’s where they did their cooking. It was dark inside because the windows were small. And they didn’t even have glass in them--just paper soaked in linseed oil. The floor was made of packed-down dirt. There weren’t enough chairs for everybody, so we sat down on whatever was handy. “Yikes, it’s cold in here. And--ouch!--something just bit me!” “Sorry, dear. Could be fleas. Could be lice.” “You’ve got to be kidding!

Sometimes - oh, just once in a blue moon-I resist being receptive to God's generosity, because I'm busy with a project and trying to manipulate Him or Her into helping me with it, or with getting my toys fixed or any major discomfort to pass. But God is not a banker or a bean counter. God gives us even more, which is so subversive. God just gives, to us, to you and me. I mean, look at us! Yikes. God keeps giving, forgiving, and inviting us back.

Cade: Why are you texting me from the same table? Beau: Because you’re too terrifying to talk to. Cade: I hope our nation’s enemies don’t find out what a pussy you are. Beau: That’s rude. I think I’ll go dance with the nanny. She seems nice. Beau: Yikes. Is that face special for me? Wanna go outside and blow off some steam like when we were kids? Cade: No. You act like a chucklehead, but you know how to kill people with your bare hands. I’m not dumb enough to fight you.

That’s what I was wondering,” Aubree says with a growl from the side. When I glance over at her, all I can think is . . . Yikes! There she is, everyone, my blushing bride.

Man, if you thought a sheep was strong, those illagers would pwn you.” “Yikes…

The acetaminophen in Tylenol binds to a powerful antioxidant called glutathione, which acts as a garbage truck for our cells, carting away free radicals and toxins as part of the body’s detoxification process. But acetaminophen irreversibly binds glutathione and reduces its cell-scrubbing abilities, especially in areas demanding high glutathione, like the brain and liver.11,12 Acetaminophen toxicity has replaced viral hepatitis as the most common cause of acute liver failure and is the second most common cause of liver failure requiring transplantation.13 Yikes.

Look like you love me,” I tell her. She grimaces, and I take the shot. “Yikes,” she mutters. “We look deranged.” “No, you look deranged. I look hot.

Once in a while I say Wow or Yikes or That’s interesting. Tell me more about that. But mostly I just eat my pasta and nod.

BELLA. GIRL. YIKES... I do need to pause and say that Kristen Stewart and Robert Pattinson perform the frick out of these goofy-ass roles, and you know what? I love them both. I do! I think they are good! Sue me! Take me to Taste Court!

Instantly my hair started to scrunch up. Ringlets pulled out of the braids like they wanted to remind everyone that I was cursed and I couldn’t hang out…CiCi stopped twirling long enough to notice. “Yikes!

Then she went over Camp Jupiter’s ground rules, stuff like no taking a giant eagle out for a joy ride, no plotting to overthrow your praetor, no short-sheeting the senators’ togas no matter how hilarious a prank that might be. Punishments for rule-breaking range from extra chores to banishment to being sewn into a bag with angry weasels. (That last one got a solid yikes from me.)

Maggie,” Caroline said. “Beckett, you remember Maggie, right?” “No,” said Beckett. Then he giggled, and lucky for him his giggle was cute. “You mean you head-butt everyone who comes through the door?” I asked, hands on my hips, playfully indignant. “Can I come with you to walk Nofarm?” he asked. “Oh, Maggie’s not here to walk Nofarm. She’s here to babysit,” Caroline explained. “No!” yelled Beckett, clinging to his mom’s leg. “We talked about this, Beckett. You knew Maggie was coming.” “Don’t leave!” Beckett screamed. He held on to his mom like a clamp. Yikes. Separation anxiety. We read about that in Babysitting 101, and not only that—I remembered the feeling from when I was little and my own parents left me for the evening. I really felt for poor Beckett. There’s nothing like parents getting dressed up to go somewhere fun and abandoning you for the night with a near stranger.

But a receptor community’s tastes shift rapidly. A “discovery” which was hot stuff an hour ago may now seem cold and boring as can be. Should a receptor strike a form of pay dirt whose provision has become routine, the yell it sends will lose what Cambridge University’s Dennis Bray calls its “infectability”—its ticket to fame and popularity. Other receptor molecules will ignore its “yikes, I found it” almost totally.13 In the struggle for attention, timing is everything.

She’d traumatized my Oren. The bitch must die...in my head anyway. I pictured myself pushing her off the side of a bridge and listening to her scream all the way down until...oops, she wasn’t screaming anymore. And yikes, I really did have issues, didn’t I?