We may barely remember one another or our pacts of undying friendship, but, in those brief and heavily intoxicated moments, I swear we were infinite.
Grand Banks, 2012
Finding common ground in our dislike of artist boyfriends, we agreed that we’d never again be collateral for someone else’s creative process. Also, that rompers were a terrible idea when we knew we’d be drinking all day. I may have forgotten your name, but I haven’t forgotten how well you pulled off bangs in high humidity.
Some Dive on Avenue C, 2014
Neither of us felt that we really fit in at such a gross bar, although our respective marketing salaries might have suggested otherwise. Thank you for the Purell, and for your almost rabid insistence that we wouldn’t have Craigslist roommates forever. I hope you’re now living the dream with an in-unit washer/dryer.
The Meatball Shop, 2015
When you freaked out at your roommate for ordering weed without budgeting adequate time to finish your drinks and rush home to clean the apartment, I respected that. Hope you got to break out the Hoover and enjoy your purple haze without feeling paranoid about what the dealer thought of your living-room-dust situation.
Click Here: Sports Water Bottles
Dear Jen, it was a great idea to wear a white blazer on Election Night. Thanks for telling me that my white halter top still counted as a tribute to the suffragettes. Thank you, also, for hugging me at the end of the evening while we both wept uncontrollably.
The siren call of unlimited free hot dogs is strong when you’re in between jobs, and I appreciated that you didn’t laugh when you overheard me ask for mine without the bun because it was Passover. I’ll gladly watch the door with a broken lock for you, anytime. You were right—suède loafers were a terrible idea in there.
The Rusty Knot, 2018
Hey, Laura, I apologize for invoking that tired trope about there being plenty of other fish in the sea as you burst into tears and sobbed that your particular fish would have sprung for private school. I still take my Tecate cans with hot sauce and lime, per your recommendation.
Caitlyn, I hope that you dumped your gaslighting boyfriend who swore he wasn’t banging his intern. Honestly, they did disappear into the back room for way too long. I never say this, but I’m glad we had the same boots. It brought us together, even though the bar crowd ultimately parted us forever. I hope you’re happy and on Hinge, wherever you are.