It’s Saturday night. I have watched six episodes of a sitcom I shouldn’t love as much as I do, and the most recent episode made me cry in my typical fit of, “I JUST LOVE LOVE.” On my left lies a plate littered with crumbs and remaining slivers of my dignity. Earlier in the evening, I had impulsively baked a pan of cornbread. What began as a single slice fresh out of the oven quickly evolved into four slices lathered in butter, sweetened with honey, and consumed in bed. I drag my finger through the lingering drizzles of honey, pulling the osmosis of salt and sugar to my lips. My phone vibrates, and I lurch toward it in excitement. I look at my screen and read: “ECU BANK: LOW BALANCE ALERT”. Well fuck you too, iPhone. I wonder, if Webster ever adds photos and phrases to its dictionary, will a picture of me in this moment appear under the colloquialism, “oh, honey”? In an attempt to boost my morale, I tell myself this isn’t the worst “oh, honey” moment I’ve had. There was… · ...