She’s so much more than an anchor voice and a pretty smile, so much more than a vessel to deliver the news. She’s mustard stains and late-night I Love Lucy reruns. She’s erotic midnight swims in someone else’s pool and on-time arrivals that border on being too early. She’s the cream and the cookie, and I’ll be goddamned if I didn’t take a hammer to her just to watch her crumble. Coworkers like us aren’t supposed to be together. It’s a complication that doesn’t mix. But when I hear her laugh, I hear my own. When I think of happiness, I think of her. And I don’t know a man on the planet who’d
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