“I,” I’ll type. And that will be enough.Then there are the other days, when nothing is enough. The poem grins. It grins because it knows it is a terrible poem. It grins in embarrassment. It grins in pity. It grins in superiority. I may be a terrible poem, it grins, but at least I have one comfort. At least I’m not a terrible poet. At least I’m not the guy who sat in front of a typewriter for two hours coming up with the likes of me.”

“Then there are the other days, when nothing is enough. The poem grins. It grins because it knows it is a terrible poem. It grins in embarrassment. It grins in pity. It grins in superiority. I may be a terrible poem, it grins, but at least I have one comfort. At least I'm not a terrible *poet*. At least I'm not the guy who sat in front of a typewriter for two hours coming up with the likes of *me*.”

“I’m glad scrambled eggs don’t have lips, because when I’m grinning over a hearty breakfast, it would really freak me out to see my breakfast grinning back. I’ve eaten a man for less than that.”

“I’m just glad you took me back,” he said, grinning widely. Stupid grin. It made me want to kiss him, and I shouldn’t have wanted to kiss him.”

“Kieran’s grin didn’t waver as he explained, “I’m not a darling type of guy, pumpkin.”“Well, I’m not a pumpkin type of girl, darling,” Jenny shot back.”

“And girls tell me he’s hot.” He grinned and finished, “I wouldn’t know, seein’ as I’m a guy but I look like him and I’m smokin’ hot so he’s gotta be hot.”