When I was in college, I stole three rolls of toilet paper from a girls’ dorm. I have trouble opening locks and am a failure at assembling IKEA furniture. In my twenties, I went solo to a Halloween party garbed in a skimpy Jane of the Jungle leopard-print costume, got drunk, left with a guy I’d just met, tried to get out of his car on the freeway to pee, spent the night with him, then called my furious boyfriend the following day and asked him to please bring me Excedrin; I lied and told him I loved him so he wouldn’t break up with me. I eat at Chipotle at least three days a week because it’s too much trouble to cook. I order the kid’s quesadilla with brown rice, pico de gallo, and guacamole. No deviations. Two truths and a lie: I have not spoken a single word to my ex-husband since our divorce twenty years ago; my ex-husband left me for my ex-cousin; after my ex-husband left, I slashed all four tires of his BMW. If you and I have a loving relationship, I will write about you. If you and I have a toxic relationship, I will write about you. I think forgiveness is an overrated religious convention; what matters is finding peace. I studied Mindfulness Based Stress Reduction but failed to stick with my meditation practice. I use two nasal sprays for non-allergic rhinitis and an antibiotic and three prescription creams for rosacea. I hate wearing a bra and wear workout clothes 90 percent of the time. I still wear five pairs of Maidenform bikini underpants that I bought before I got married—black, white, scarlet, sky blue, kelly green. They’ve lasted forty years because I don’t machine dry them. I’m not a fan of the fast fashion trend; it’s wasteful and discarded clothes end up on beaches in third world countries. I like many of my friends more than I like myself. For twenty-two years, my passion was acting, and though I gave up that dream at thirty-five, I sometimes still compose Oscar acceptance speeches in my mind in case I’m discovered. I don’t know how to use a spreadsheet; when I do my taxes, I tally expenses with the calculator app on my cell phone. I wish I embraced joy more and experienced anxiety less. I’ve been in six car accidents, one while listening to a radio announcer reveal Oscar nominees. I left the CPAP machine I use for sleep apnea in an Uber in Buenos Aires, at a car rental counter in Melbourne, and on a bus to the train station in Berlin. I’ve broken five of the ten commandments, the toilet paper and boyfriend incidents included. I’m not on Instagram, I don’t have a podcast, and I’ve never been red carpet official so I may not exist. Do you? I’m open to finding out. These days, I buy thirty-six-pack toilet paper at Costco.