A truly cringe-worthy moment from The Bell Jar: I stared at Buddy while he unzipped his chino pants and took them off and laid them on a chair and then took off his underpants that were made of something like nylon fishnet. “They’re cool,” he explained, “and my mother says they wash easily.”
“Paris is not that big, I’m sure we’ll stay in touch somehow.” That was the last exchange in what you might call a “break-up” email. I got this about two weeks ago, and at the time, I was busy painting my nails, but had my laptop next to me, and had paused to carefully click the mail open. (This is like an illness for me—I can’t stand seeing bold fonts in...
to the reader who left a poem in a comment...
it remains unapproved for the moment…i can’t tell if this is spam…or someone who really is watching my life that closely. how do you treat things like this? yay for romantic ode? or kind of creeped out?