"Baby, It's Cold Outside" 2020 Edition
He: Beautiful watch you're wearing
She: My father will be pacing the floor—Wait, what about my watch?
He: Listen to the fireplace roar
She: No. This isn’t about the fireplace. Look, really, I'd better scurry
He: Okay. That’s fair. Text me tomorrow. I’ll get you a Lyft.
Notes from the Post-it Wall |Week of November 1, 2020
I look forward to knowing the indisputable results of the presidential election so that we can enjoy our holiday season debating whether “Baby It’s Cold Outside” is a rape song or not. (It is. That’s how shit got done in President Truman’s America.)
Getting Punched In the Genitals by a Christmas Song
Welcome to the Faceborg Nation, friends and neighbors. Try the coffee — it’s bitter and unforgiving and comes only in Black or White.
I think my dad had a hard time with retirement. In the five months since stepping away he’d grown increasingly interested in me. I couldn’t tell if it was out of boredom or guilt for not having been more involved in my life up to that point. And though I never felt abandoned by him, it was nice—albeit strange—to get to spend some time with him.