She’d sent a screenshot of a Stories poll. A picture of me, back turned and phone to my ear, took up the left side of the screen; a familiar purple unicorn dominated the right side. The question was simple: Who would you rather cuddle with? Mr. Harper or Mr. Unicorn? “You’re losing, by the way,” Stella said. “Mr. Unicorn is beating you 53 to 47 percent.” I stared at her, sure I was hearing wrong and that she didn’t have the fucking audacity to pit me against a raggedy stuffed animal with a crooked eye in some absurd social media poll. I was also sure I couldn’t be losing to said stuffed
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