“You’re really angsty today, Meg,” Mona said as she began picking crumbs out of her bra.

“I am not,” I defended, but she shot a look of skepticism back that made me shrink into my seat, “Okay, maybe a little. I’m just…frustrated, that’s all.”

“Why, because of Travis? You never tell me anything about him…” she said, looking dissapointed.

“What’s there to tell?” I sighed, “He’s your typical extroverted, over-protective male with bad music taste.”

“But he’s so…hot,” she said dreamily.

“All he did on our last date was open doors for me, and we went to this diner…and he ordered like…a whole plate of bacon…how gross is that?”

“I like bacon,” Mona said.

“That’s beside the point. And you could tell like the entire time we were hanging out, all he wanted to do was make out with me. I mean, don’t get me wrong…that’s nice and all…but seriously? And what’s worse, he didn’t even have a clue who Andy Warhol or Linda Rondstant were.”

“God, how horrifying,” Mona said, disgusted.