In a relationship, it is almost guaranteed that you will get fat and happy. You will lie contentedly in her arms on your plush couch among your eclectic throw pillows and reflect on how lucky you are. You will order in and eat out. In a spirit of domestic goddess-osity, you will attempt to cook dinner from scratch, which will of course result in half the kitchen on fire and subsequent takeout from the Chinese bistro down the street.
You’re at your desk, but then suddenly you’re at the vending machine. How did you get there? Did you float? Oh. Is there a tiny unicorn for sale in the vending machine?! It’s waving at you from E7. Its tail is multi-colored streamers. Its hooves are Oreo cookies. No, wait. You’re blinking. Your eyes were closed. How long have your eyes been closed? Where did that unicorn/cookie go?
“Scott,” he says. “I know Bill has been playing every single minute for us for the past year-and-a-half, since right after that fall formal, you know, when he came up to me at the punch bowl and started rubbing my back and said, ‘Why don’t you give me a shot at the title, coach?’ But you know what? You’re going in there the second half. Thing is, though, you can’t tell Bill.”
It’s no secret that women and bathrooms have a special relationship. We like to go in groups, stay in there for about two rainy seasons, and often come out an entirely different person.