Hipsters of the Heart

Today, my boyfriend and I got a very very very very very early coffee so that I could sob into his arms and plead, “Don’t go home for Th-th-th-thanksgiving! I NEED YOU!”

And as a matter of fact, I do need him, because I am staggering under the weight of how truly awful my writing is. If you thought Twilight was bad, YOU MUST CHANGE YOUR LIFE! I mean, YOU MUST READ MY STORY. I know I know, I’m quoting Kafka or whoever wrote that poem–oh yeah, Rilke, sorry, that k+vowel combo always throws me–and you must think I’m all smart and literary but I AM UNWORTHY TO PICK UP THE HUMBLEST OF PENS.

Very real emotional breakdowns aside, Charlie and I were snuggled up in a corner of the couch when who should walk through the door but Hipster Husband himself, fashionably late for his shift. He walked past us, averting his eyes at the sight of me with another man (we have an open polygamous marriage) but maintaining that so-elusive and ever-appealing hipster swagger (you know the type: the my-Toms-are-too-big shuffle, the I-can’t-see-where-I’m-going hangover eyes).

“That’s Hipster Husband,” I whispered to Charlie.

Charlie watched Hipster Husband shuffle away, and then turned to glare at me. “He’s an asshole,” he said.

“What? You don’t even know him! He’s totally shy and sweet!”

“I can just tell. It’s like how you can just tell when girls are biddies.” (Quick aside: Male intuition? Do we buy it?)

“Okay,” I said, meekly. “I’ll divorce him.” I took a forlorn sip of my coffee, somehow managing to look dewy and fresh despite the early hour and the heartbreak that was ravaging my eyes.

After a while, we got up to leave. I took my mug over to Hipster Husband. “Have a good day!” I said, although my heart was screaming, I’M NOT READY TO STOP LOVING YOU!!!!!

As I walked out of the coffee shop with my cruel, cruel boyfriend, he put his arm around me and said, “Actually, that guy is chill.”

I looked up at him, mute with hope.

“You don’t have to divorce him,” he said, and walked on, stoic and ever-cool.

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