December 9, 2009 § 2 Comments
dear Joshua David Stein,
I had no one to watch the first episode of Top Chef: Season 6 with. I had no one to watch the subsequent f0urteen episodes with. & last week, when I sat down to watch Part I of the finale, I melted some chips on some cheese & watched it alone.
Then, I read your piece in Gawker, & suddenly it was as if I was on a couch (not a futon) in a warm house (not a freezing duplex) with my endlessly witty & intelligent boyfriend (not curled around a plate of nachos) as the camera scans the Napa Valley & my MacBook hums. You got teary with me as Jennifer packed her knives, & then you rubbed my back until I felt all better. You taught me the word “lipogram.” You even made the commercials funny. I’m not one for romance, but for this, I’d send you flowers. Big red ones that traditionally mean something’s happening in a person’s heart for another person.
I understand you’re married. But if you’re ever in Texas & if you ever need a futon & if you have plenty of sweaters, come find me. I’ll try not to be too awkward. I know how to make a quiche.
I can properly pronounce my D’s,