David Sedaris

I’m not sure how it is in small families, but in large ones relationships tend to shift over time.

What can I do to make him like me? I used to wonder. The harder I tried to mold myself into the sort of son I thought he wanted, the more contemptuous he became, and so eventually I quit trying and founded the opposition party, which I still lead to this day. Whatever he’s for, I’m against. Almost.

Who does this—goes to the shows of people they’re supposed to be proud of and counts the empty seats?

Mates, to my sisters and me, are seen mainly as shadows of the people they’re involved with.

These are clothes that absolutely refuse to flatter you, that go out of their way to insult you, really, and still my sisters and I can’t get enough.

“Why go to a store when you could go to a museum?” she might ask.
“Um, because the museum doesn’t sell shit?” My sisters and I refuse to feel bad about shopping. And why should we?

Shopping with my sisters in Japan was like being in a pie-eating contest, only with stuff. We often felt sick. Dazed. Bloated. Vulgar. Yet never quite ashamed.

Anyone could tell that we were related, even someone from another planet who believed that humans were as indistinguishable from one another as acorns. At this particular moment of our lives, no one belonged together more than us.

I erase my Internet user history, not wanting to be identified as the person who would find this sort of thing entertaining—yet clearly being that person.

With me, people aren’t thinking What did you say? so much as Why are you saying that?