A Love Letter to My Weighted Blanket
The moments you awaken me in a slight (erotic) panic when you bunch up and crush my windpipe are some of the greatest memories of my adult life.
The moments you awaken me in a slight (erotic) panic when you bunch up and crush my windpipe are some of the greatest memories of my adult life.
“You’re making me gasp in bed for the wrong reasons.” “Lately, our pictures on Facebook have been less than flattering.”
If you're like me, I imagine Melinda blindsided you with some out-of-no-where comment about how you’re “constantly projecting yourself onto other people.”
There is a powerful part of me that needs, for just one night a year, some very specific, humiliating things from an outlaw rebel ghost.
I just feel that the spark is gone. I’m not talking about the sparks that cause raging wildfires and destroy my forests.
Last year, I met the lovely Emma outside a Concord tavern. She said she liked my tri-corner hat and asked if anything else of mine is tri-cornered.
I should never have strayed from the routine. The second I opened that dessert cupboard I knew it was a mistake.
After a big fight, he usually: A) Shotguns a Four Loko in a gas station parking lot B) Chugs a pint of Fireball on your front yard
I scroll through my Venmo feed with fervor, finding out more about your lives from a cash app than I do from the photos you share on Instagram.
The first time you met him, he left you wanting more. Despite knowing he's been with dozens of other people, you're not threatened.
Maybe before departing, the yogurt left a note for its live-in yogurt boyfriend, who was at his company kickball league going absolutely beast mode.
Never Posts in the Group Chat Guy: A true live-only act. He might answer a text if you get sick.