Quietly Hostile

by Samantha Irby

I was talking to a man (first mistake),

(Hear me out: Have you ever seen people fucking on a bus?)

truly nothing beats sliding into a made bed at the end of yet another day in which you’ve cheated death.

You look so considerate, like, “Hey, I got you a heated blanket,” and then you get to bask in a shower of smooches and glowing praise because you are so kind and thoughtful. When they forget about it in three days, you can commandeer that gift and have your very own brand-new heated blanket, which you bought in the color that most appealed to you, because you wanted it to be yours in the first place.

a cucumber that might be a zucchini or vice versa

(These details are only for the benefit of people in Chicago, who are undoubtedly pointing to this page and screaming “I know where that is!” right now.)

He taught me a lot about Illinois politics, mostly that it’s a thankless job I should get out of as soon as I could.