Whenever I become part of a new group of people, I find myself telling the same few essential stories that give them a little picture of where I'm coming from.  How I met Joey/why I moved to Canada.  What I did on 9/11/01 (particularly comes up at this time of year).  How I ended up at Wellesley.   And how pretty it is to fly over the States at night on the Fourth of July.

It's always interesting which ones come out.

There are a few I would like to tell sometime, but they're not for everyone.  I know a person or two who might appreciate the time that my old boyfriend pretended to kidnap me in the airport so I wouldn't leave; luckily the security guards were preoccupied.  Or perhaps that party in Claflin (ahem J.) back in school where I think real life started, even though college was almost over.

Or maybe I'll start telling the story of how the living room ceiling in Brighton (only one of my apartments in Brighton had a living room) caved in on me more often.  It's amusing and yet entirely inoffensive.  I was too busy trying to bail out to even curse.