Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 90894 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90894 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Being on an earlier train this morning, I totally wasn’t prepared to come face to face with Graham. When our eyes locked, his pupils dilated and for a split second, I thought maybe he was having the same physical reaction to me that I had being near him. But then he looked away completely unaffected. His barely acknowledging my existence was a virtual rejection, yet my hands were still shaking when his first text came in. The only good thing was, at least the shock of seeing him didn’t appear to have registered on my face. He had no idea who I was, and I planned to keep it that way.
Ida interrupted my thoughts. She plopped a thick stack of unfolded letters on my desk. Who really writes a letter and mails it to an advice column in this day and age? Hello, email? Are you there? It’s me, the twenty-first century.
“Think you can work on some responses for the Internet column?”
“Sure. I can do that.”
“Maybe this time, you can make the advice appropriate.”
I was feeling pretty fucking inappropriate this morning. “I’ll try.”
“Try isn’t good enough. Get it right this time.” She slammed the door to her office, and I stuck up my middle finger. I told her.
I spent about an hour sifting through the pile until I found a few letters I thought I was capable of responding to Ida-style. My first few drafts resulted in wadded up balls of paper that missed the garbage can. Then I realized there was a trick to shoveling out shitty advice. First, I would draft the response how I thought it should read. Then, I would change each sentence to the exact opposite of what my advice would be. Amazingly enough, the two-step process seemed to really generate that Ida-esque vibe.
Dear Ida,
Last year I caught my boyfriend cheating on me. He said it was a terrible mistake and promised it was a one-time thing. After a lot of heartache, I agreed to stay committed to our relationship. But I just can’t get over it. There is a man at work who I’m very attracted to. I think that if I slept with him, it might help me. Can two wrongs save a relationship?
Paula, Morningside Heights
Step 1.
Dear Paula,
Yes! Two wrongs don’t make a right, but they make a hell of a good excuse! Go for it! Sure, a relationship requires commitment, but then again so does insanity. Cheating isn’t a mistake; it’s a choice. Be real. Once a cheater, always a cheater. Get even, ride that hottie, then leave before your boyfriend does it again.
Step 2.
Dear Paula,
No. Two wrongs never make a right. If you are truly committed to saving your relationship, you should avoid temptation at all costs. People make mistakes, but they can also learn from them and change. To err is human, to forgive divine. Be divine. Trust that he won’t do it again. Ride it out if you truly love him.
After I had gotten the hang of it, I knocked out two days’ worth of responses before giving them to Ida to review. When my phone buzzed mid-day, I was excited, expecting it to be Graham. As ridiculous as it was, I really looked forward to his angry, horny texts. Disappointment settled in finding a text from Aspen. I had forgotten all about our date for tonight. My immediate reaction was to cancel. But instead, I lied and wrote back I was looking forward to tonight. He was a friend of a friend who I met at a party and seemed like a really nice guy. Plus, sitting home and waiting for a text from a man who would never have an interest in a woman like me, was just plain sad.
After work, I made an extra effort to look nice hoping it would change my mood. I slipped into some tight jeans and a bright purple shirt that showed off my abundance of cleavage. Adding a sexy pair of strappy, black-studded sandals, I looked in the mirror. I looked damn good. Screw you, Graham Morgan who didn’t think I was worth a second glance.
Living in Brooklyn, I usually met my dates wherever we were going. Public transportation wasn’t exactly conducive to picking people up, which worked for me since I wasn’t particularly fond of giving virtual strangers my address. But Aspen planned to take me somewhere out on Long Island, so he had picked me up.
“I hope you don’t mind. I just need to make a quick stop.”
“Sure, no problem.”
Unlike when we had met at the party, the car ride was filled with awkward conversation. I had to ask questions to keep the conversation going.
“So where are we headed? You mentioned a club.”
“It’s a comedy club. I don’t go on until nine.”
“You’re performing?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Figured two birds, one stone.”