{Who’s at the Door?} An Email to My Besties About Finding Love During Quarantine

Hey everyone! I know it’s been a while since I sent an email to all my besties. First off, who else is just LOVING working from home?! I mean, I roll out of bed, throw on a comfy sweater and don’t even have to worry about putting on pants. And if I want some wine with lunch, I just need to keep it off screen.

I hope you are all still quarantining and maintaining social distance. Love you if you are.

If not, well, we all saw what happened to the boat with the Puerta Vallarta gays. Happy New Year to everyone… except the PV gays.

And yes, we all know that 2020 was a dumpster fire (although we shouldn’t have been surprised because it was a result of the ignorance of systemic, structural, and social issues that plague our nation and ultimately favor the rich in a highly lopsided economic environment, but I digress…)

But, I have some AMAZING news. I’ve met the man of my dreams.

We are in love. I know what you’re thinking. I, for sure, wasn’t expecting to find love during a global pandemmy, but sometimes the man of your dreams just shows up to your door when you least expect it and brings you exactly what you need. From the first moment I laid eyes on him… from six feet away, of course… I knew he was special.

A little about him…  Well, he has a job. I mean, my $1,800 from the federal government went to rent and White Claws, so he better have his own stimulus check to make me a nice dinner, you know what I mean? I’d settle for a Door Dash meal, as long as he tips the delivery person like… 50 percent. Not all heroes wear capes, ladies.

He also drives. Thank God. Could you imagine having to be a personal Uber for your soulmate?

I know you’re wondering… “Well, what does he look like?”

Shallow bishes. BUT, he definitely works out. You should see him when he comes by in his work uniform. It’s like—are you working or is that your stripper outfit?

And since beauty is truly only skin deep, he’s just… right for me. He’s the strong, silent type. He doesn’t talk much. He doesn’t have to. We just… understand each other.

I know your next question is “What’s his name?” Well, it’s Anthony.

I know. I have warned everyone I’ve ever met to never date an Anthony. But, there are exceptions to every rule. And, it turns out, Denise (CCed on this email) knows him from the gym. They used to work out together… well… before Miss ‘Rona.

I’m still, like, confused why the government is grouping nail salons and restaurants with gyms? Like… it’s a lot easier for me to stay six feet away from gross ass guys at the gym than it is from drunk girls at the bar trying to steal my potato skins without me seeing.

Oh my God, do you think Anthony likes potato skins? Or is he more a mozzarella stick guy?

Anyway, you would think Denise would’ve done her best friend duty and hooked us up… but, she didn’t. It’s just such a small world… and we can never understand fate’s fickle hand.

Like I said, one day, he showed up at my door and the rest is history.

It’s like one of those Lacey Chabert/Marc Blucas Hallmark movies. Front Stoop of Love or Who’s At the Door? Love Is. Something meet-cute like that.

So, we all have been stuck inside for almost a year. Thank GOD for outdoor dining in the summer. Mexican. Margs. Those cute cactus masks. I still can’t believe those frat bros at the table next to us thought it was in good taste to order buckets of Corona. :eyeroll:

Anyway, I’m getting restless, and I think I’m ready to take it to the next level with Anthony.

We’ve maintained safe distance this entire time. But maybe, perhaps, we finally get close. It’s a new year, new me, right?

So, ladies…

Next time Anthony delivers a UPS package, I’m actually going to say something to him. We’ve been together since March, so he should at least know my name, like, right?