"Ruth Walker!” The voicemail message begins brightly. “What a darling, charming voice, even on voicemail.”
The gentleman caller does not leave his name, but continues: “It's been so long since we talked. I hope all is well. Just wanted to say hello and, more pointedly. I'm going to the beach. I’d love for you to join me.”
The voice is familiar, but not the number. Who is this sweet-sounding man inviting me to the beach?
“Let’s talk soon,” he adds. “Bye.”
I contort my thoughts, trying to grasp some sense of recognition from this random message, reaching into the depths of my memory but coming up blank. And anyway, who doesn’t leave their name on a voicemail?
“Remember me?” another text asks, coquettishly. How could I forget? You’re the one who sent me several unsolicited dick picks/ghosted me after the three-hour FaceTime date/insert other dating misdemeanor.
The last few months have been a romantic desert for many of us. But the warm weather and the relaxation of quarantine rules are tempting old lovers out of hibernation. It’s the post-COVID zombie apocalypse.
It could be worse. Just when I think my love life is rubbish, I consider my roommate, who woke up the other morning spooning an empty trash bag. True story.
Happy Monday, friends. Whether you share your bed with another human, an inanimate object, or joyously starfish in glorious solitude, may you know you are loved.
Sign up to get more musings like this here.
