Twelve
Keys to My Future
This has been the longest, hardest, most uncomfortable week of my life.
Number Two has forbidden me from consuming a single drop of alcohol, not even a sip of bubbly for my thirty-first birthday, which passed without fanfare despite my prior plans for an obscene party filled with friends, food, and fabulous French wine. Instead, I marked the occasion by coughing so hard, I blew a blood vessel in my left eye, thanks to the virus I picked up sitting at the Fairmont in wet clothes with wet hair and my now-ruined Valentinos. He disallowed NyQuil but permitted Tylenol, and even then only every eight hours. I don’t know what they taught him in his bargain-basement boarding school in bloody old England, but it feels like maybe he graduated from a military academy full
