I’m washing dishes, and I pick up a spoon that looks, at first half-attending glance, like it’s covered with applesauce. I begin to wipe it off in my sudsy water, but it isn’t applesauce after all; it’s gooey and greasy and clings to my fingers, rather like…Vaseline? "What’s on this spoon?" I ask the three … Continue reading Sometimes These Things Just Write Themselves