It’s on my husband, 15 years ago. I want to stand next to him outside of an improv show drinking a beer even though I don’t like beer while he avoids eye contact and quietly relishes in the the social discomfort of his peers and contemplates other universes. I want to flirtatiously touch his scarf, ask him where he got it, have him tell me literally and exactly where, that his Mom knit it, and I want to fall then and there in love. I want to then ask him if I can wear it, and I want him to not get that I’m flirting and say, No, it’s mine.

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