He talked about wanting a Patagonia T-snap sweater, pointed out his favorite color, and I obliged on his birthday. This’ll be fun, I thought.
I played a game in college where a Patagonia was my preferred morning after attire. As soon as I’d spot one in a guy’s bedroom, my mind would lock on maneuvering to walk home in it.
You’re never allowed to let a girl wear your Patagonia, I declared. I won’t let you get played. Notice I said “a girl”, inclusive of all women, lovers or not. You can’t lend your T-snap to a friend who has a secret crush on you, who will imagine your warmth wrapped around her through the T-snap. You can’t lend your T-snap to an old friend, who is most definitely a friend, who you end up sleeping with in six months. That would be a retroactive violation of the T-snap. If someone wears your T-snap, if they take it, out of your control, you must immediately abandon ownership of the T-snap, so she can’t feel you around her. And she can’t keep it: burn it, ship it to Goodwill, take it out of our lives.
Are you around? Come over for dinner
I have some of your mail, and well, I’ll admit I like your company. Okay, technically, it’s an email. And maybe, yes, I did sign up for the New Yorker subscription with my email address using your name. But it really feels like someone in my inbox is trying to reach you! I think you should give it a once over, just in case
I know that you’ll say no, but we’ve had dinner so many times before! Why wouldn’t we do it once again?
Drinks. Sitting. Our legs were touching slightly more than normal, which I guess means “we’re going to fuck” in this adult era
I’ve been dating like I do laundry: I do it because society says I should, and I know if I put it off for long enough, I’ll regret it, but it always feels like it takes up too much time
“You are the loudest person,” he said to me, from across the circle, as I wailed at the bondfire, the final night of camp, the second or third sentence he ever said to me, after 4 weeks, for 6 years, summing me up: “You talk loud, you laugh loud, and apparently, you cry the loudest, too,” at 15, I was a virgin.
He was right.