Fine, I won't feed the ducks

I can't actually feed the ducks in Central Park because I didn't go to NY. Because the Boy's potential employers totally didn't get him a hotel room. Because they were being hateriuses. And I had no desire to sleep on a stranger's tiny couch with a Boy, even if he is snuggly and fairly compact. And because my coreligionist, Alice, is going to NYU and has promised a proper bed and touristing if I come to visit her. WINS!

So instead I have attempted to find I. (who may be dead) and talked to S. about the beauty of her love for a boy named (no joke) Gustavus. And walked around DC with a cactus planter looking for M., who may never actually be at his workplace.

Also, I have drunk pink sparkling wine with my Dad and talked about Hume. For a long, enjoyable time.

And talked with Mum about how I shouldn't be "having an affair" but that I am old enough to know what's best for me, hopefully. I know that I'm setting myself up for heart-squelching at some point, but it really seems worthwhile. Hopefully.