“I don’t believe in France.”

A special edition of my favorite short story of all time including an illustration by Audrey Niffenegger! How on earth did I miss this?

“Hi,” Tilly said. She sounded as if she were asking a question.
Tilly never liked talking to people on the telephone. How were you supposed to know if they were really who they said they were? And even if they were who they claimed to be, they didn’t know whether you were who you said you were. You could be someone else. They might give away information about you, and not even know it. There were no protocols. No precautions.
She said, “Did you brush your teeth this morning?”
“Good morning, Tilly,” her father (if it was her father) said. “My toothbrush was fine. Perfectly normal.”
“That’s good,” Tilly said. “I let Carleton use mine.”
“That was very generous,” Henry said.
“No problem,” Tilly said. Sharing things with Carleton wasn’t like having to share things with other people. It wasn’t really like sharing things at all. Carleton belonged to her, like the toothbrush.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s