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Michael Woodsmall

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All’s Fair In Love and Politics… Or Is It?

It was late in the evening and I sat surrounded on the sofa of a friend of a friend’s apartment, having been already introduced to him and her and them and her, and the few glasses of chilled Pinot Noir I had drowned my bashfulness in were beginning to entrance me into a “People Are Strange” mood, with faces flashing before me in a similar fashion. Then she appeared. She was attractive. Had an air of knowing what she was doing amidst a crowd of fumbling fools. And our novelist-in-residence …

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Why I’d Be Offended If A Woman Didn’t Take My Last Name

A ladyfriend of mine and I were recently exchanging romantic glances through the light aromatic steam lifting from our morning cups of coffee when mine slipped from my hands and fell to the floor, breaking into a million tiny telltale pieces. The scalding coffee seeping through my pant leg and melting the skin on my shin were but an afterthought as I pondered the untimely death of yet another promising relationship. In this “fight,” no tears were shed. No epithets were yelled. And no dishes w …