Seagrove Beach, September 25
“Fine. How about a chicken?”
“Fine. How about a chicken?”
The memory of their faces in this moment is one of two life events that can make me cry on cue.
Working on an organic farm had sounded like a fun, enriching way to bridge the gap between the end of my sophomore year and the beginning of my summer job at Calvin.
If you need me, I’ll be listening to the Game of Thrones soundtrack on repeat for the next few months.
“OHMYGOD I LOOK LIKE A CARTOON,” I bawled, spitting blood into the sink. “I DON’T WANT YOU TO SEE! I’M SO UGLY!”
Now, in the grand scheme of things, does it actually matter that people know you wore the same dress (gasp!) TWICE in your life?
1:15 p.m. “Ope, it’s 1:15, I’ve got to run now,” he says. “Thank you, great to meet you.”
It was high time for a serious KonMari discard session, and over the course of a couple of days I gleefully tapped the “unfollow” button dozens of times.
The shine has yet to wear off and the subscription has been completely satisfying.
“What if we had never met? had broken up in college? were still dating and living apart?” one of us will ask the other.
ANGELICA
(continues in the gravelly voice)
WIPE your tears, princess, we’re gonna serenada you. ANITUS!
Will you have psychedelic bathwater? No. Will you be picking glitter out of your nether regions? Also no.
I’m not allowed to comment on the items that patrons check out, so I try not to pay attention.