A Broad in Cambridge
Home Alone
Cell phone in hand, I pressed my body against the tiled bathroom floor and peeked through the bottom corner of the window. They were still there. Three trucks, parked in the driveway in such a way that blocked my one route of escape. I was trapped. I was alone, and I was hungry. I had no idea what these vehicles were doing here but one thing was certain: none of them were Bon Me.
This was not the way that things should have gone, in fact, it was the ideal set-up. My parents were away for the weekend, and I had the house to myself. Despite promising my mother that I wouldn’t touch her white wine or ruin the hardwood floors, I was more than prepared to throw a rager with the three people that I still kept in contact with from high school. But the surprise guests outside of my house was making that difficult.
An Open Letter to My Unpaid Internship
Dear Bosswoman, Assistant Bosswoman, and Jim;
I am giving my two weeks notice.
My Dignity, Please
While people are in the business of suing Tinder I would like to issue a formal complaint of my own: Tinder irrevocably tainted my reputation. And, yes, I still think that I have a reputation to protect.
You see, for as long as I remember, I have been telling people that I don’t use Tinder. But, as I just found out, it turns out I’m a liar: let me explain.
Some Trick
I just saw my psychic. I call her my psychic not because I see her regularly, but because the only way I’ll ever feel justified in paying her sixty dollars for a half hour of predictions is if I can also refer to her with the first person possessive.
My psychic is a fraud. Do not see my psychic.