later, as I pull onto the highway in… Seven In my list of twenty, Abogado came after Rod, but… Eight The next morning, as I wait in line to pay… Nine I met #11 on my list,
Note: uad
here, I might as well come clean and explain myself, so here goes: My name is Delilah Darling.
Note: ji
about the breakup, angry for two reasons. For one, I wasted four months of my life on him, a guy who didn’t even have a real job. I met him while shopping in Soho one day. He walked up to me, all cute and charming, and was like, “Excuse me, can I ask you a question about your hair?” Yes, he was one of those guys—a young, good-looking stud hired by a local beauty salon to butter me up so I’ll buy a bunch of coupons. Needless to say, I fell for his spiel and for him. But forget all that now, forget that he had the face of a Baldwin (Alec or Billy in their younger days, not those other...
Note: javeds note
My gynecologist thinks it’s closer to seven, all done with protection, of course. (Oh, come on…everyone’s had at least one slip-up, and you know it.) My mom—even though I prefer not to talk about sex with her—thinks it’s somewhere around two. (I needed someone to pay for the pill when I was in college.) Even my best friend thinks my number is a little lower than it really is, because no one—I repeat, no one—tells even their best friend everything.
Note: ggh