Looking for a Corporate Sponsorship
We met in the back of a shared Uber. I was coming from a progressive political rally. She was coming from a work happy hour. Tipsy, she moaned longingly at my McFlurry. I asked if she wanted some. She did. We flirted as the passenger in the front seat was dropped off. She asked the driver if she should get out with me. The driver said we lived near each other. We kissed to make sure it was worth it. It was. Eight months later, we can’t get Uber to sponsor our love. Uber? McDonalds? Are you there? Let’s synergize. — Sam Bonar
A face mask night, of course!
“Come Back, Come Back, Come Back”
My brother going off to war in Afghanistan — a modern Odysseus — unexpectedly transformed me into Penelope. Just as Penelope wove a never-ending shroud while she waited for her soldier to come home, I developed a new and sudden obsession with knitting, winding yarn around needles to make him an endless stream of impractical and unwanted accessories — scarves, gloves, even a camouflage hat (with pom-poms). Powerless to protect him, I turned the rows of stitches into my rosary: “Come back, come back, come back.” Once he was home I put down my needles, permanently. — Kate Sturla
She Wore My Thong
It was my first wedding with her as my plus-one, and we were first on the dance floor. When the D.J. played “Low” by Flo Rida, I dropped it so low that I split my pants. We went to the women’s bathroom to survey the damage. It was pretty bad. She could see my whole butt, especially when I tried out some dance moves. She’d never worn a thong before, but the situation was dire. So we swapped. I pulled on her full-coverage underwear, she slid on my thong, and we headed back out to dance. — Jessica Hackel
My Main Men as Meals
My first boyfriend, Howie, was matzo ball soup: warm and homey, wonderful on a cold, wintry day, but not a lot of sex appeal. My previously married ex-husband, John, was leftover Chinese food: so compelling in the refrigerator, but you were always sorry after you ate it. Vinnie, pizza-maker and “transition man,” was a banquet verging on bacchanal: destined to create heartburn but impossible to stop eating. My now and hopefully forever man, Charles, is bran flakes sprinkled with a few Lucky Charms: He keeps me regular and, on most days, is magically delicious. — Jill Lipton
First the Ugly, Then the Beauty
We met on an app. I chose my favorite brewery for our first date. When he ordered only water to drink while I enjoyed a few beers, I prodded. With neither hesitation nor shame, he laid out his demons: four years in recovery from heroin and alcohol addiction. Then I laid out mine: 10 years recovering from eating disorders. Within 15 minutes, we knew all of each other’s ugly parts. We’ve spent the rest of our time together discovering the beautiful ones. — Ally Petrilla
