I went away for one night, and when I came home Darren was laid up on the couch with sunstroke, a lost wallet, and a sprained ankle that someone kicked in at his Sunday soccer game. He is burnt, broke, and limpy, but I am happy to see him. I better make him some dinner because he has probably forgotten to eat for 24 hours.
Last night when Keith and I went to see our friend’s band Greenland play in Baltimore, I found a girl who just got engaged and convinced her to let me try on her diamond ring. She had to show me where to put it. Then I texted Darren back in Charlottesville, “A girl here showed me which finger the love goes on. Her hand is more bitten than mine.” This seemed like a very Isabel-type message to send. An example of one of hers (also sent last night): “Privacy has a wild prettiness, a spice box at its heart.” Another: “Reading bisexual’s guide to the universe & baking green cupcakes. I’m such a perv.”
Does she know you have a site? Well, at least you’re giving her the credit for those magnificent words…