Call it the baseball player in me but a girl in a baseball hat can make me do anything.

Without me even knowing it.

Oh, honey, where did you get that Prada purse?

I bought it for you?

Oh.

True story.

This is the worst kind of torture.

Breakfast.

[…] because a girl who reads possesses a vocabulary that can describe that amorphous discontent as a life unfulfilled—a vocabulary that parses the innate beauty of the world and makes it an accessible necessity instead of an alien wonder. A girl who reads lays claim to a vocabulary that distinguishes between the specious and soulless rhetoric of someone who cannot love her, and the inarticulate desperation of someone who loves her too much.