[S]he looks like a shape-shifting gazelle who speaks the language the gods used when they lived on the moon. You know, Gawker.
My parents have ceased speaking to me altogether. The last thing I said to them, when we were discussing donating animals to villages instead of gifts for one another, was a back-and-forth about whether we could get a water buffalo or something. My response was:
I want a hippopotamus for Christmas
Only a hippopotamus will do
Not a crocodile
I only like hippopatamusseses
And hippopatamuses like me too