Do you remember my friend? I mean my 30-year-old girlfriend who was dating a 19-year-old boy who had fed on enough quails to earn him a Steve Harvey body and a Brat Pitt smile? The one who almost gave us a heart attack when we realized he was 19. Let’s call her Daisy.
When you’re a single woman in your 30s, you are either looking for a man or somewhere to be buried just in case! I am looking for the latter. Not because I don’t want to be buried in my father’s place.