Sprouting five-o’clock shadow and raunchy, bedraggled hair draped all the way down to my waist in just 36 whole hours, my mother nurses my grief by preparing a platter of pizza rolls. With one swipe of my hand, I knock the sheet right out of her grip. “I told you I wanted Bagel Bites,” I mutter, as I fight back tears. It’s been a rough weekend.
Don’t feel like talking about it much, to be honest. Duties will be fulfilled, so why not throw some change on the Big Ten and cash with your friend, Alex? That sounds delightful.