I’ve origamied myself into the passenger seat of my boyfriend’s car, ready for four solid hours of Interstate 40. I’m dressed—as usual—like a teen runaway, constantly rolling the sleeves of my oversized Raheem Sterling shirt and resting both scuffed Chucks on the dash.
At the first lull in conversation, I chomped into a packet of the World’s Greasiest Beef Jerky and was in the middle of some serious jaw calisthenics when “80s on 8” spat out Thomas Dolby’s one chart topper.
“She blinded me…” he yelped in 1982.
“WITH SCIENCE!” I shouted just now, lobbing a wad of beef parts out of my mouth and onto the inside of the windshield.
Here’s where I should point out that—I’m sorry fellas—but I’m taken.