Perhaps you’ve arrived here having Googled some version of this question late at night. I’ve done that. Or maybe you were searching how to clean up an actual mess, like pink silly putty a toddler ground into an off-white carpet. Like that splotch on the...
I call her Squash. As in, she squashes my confidence. Also, no one would ever name their kid Squash. She’s not a kid. She’s a nag of a narrator who lives in my head. Squash is always with me, whispering in my ear. But instead of sweet-nothings, Squash...
