My friend Kaitlyn has yet another must-read post up on her blog, Inferior Monologue. Thing is, Kaitlyn doesn’t really blog, not in the sense that I do, throwing snippets and links and images and videos up at random for her visitors to gawk at. Rather, she takes her time and occasionally posts beautifully written mini-essays, written in her inimitable voice that is at once wry, cynical, dead pan and devastatingly endearing.

Hyperbole, you cry? Fool! Get thee to her bloggery and read her post, and see for yourself what you’re missing out on. It’s almost as good as a bathtub filled with Nutella, and coming from me, that’s something.

Here are the first two paragraphs–if you dig this, then head on over to finish the post:

I walk out of work into a snow globe. Stinging flakes whip across the gray dusky buildings, not yet sundown; I’m a couple minutes early. My battered boots are warm but not waterproof, and my stockings absorb the mucky slush piled on the sidewalks. That boy is ahead of me, the lanky one with the glasses and the newsboy cap, a tall drink of water with a skinny drawn face like a straw. He is so, so cute. I see him on my commute sometimes, lips puckered as he scans whatever deep, layered text he’s absorbing that morning, pale and dreamy under his newsboy cap. I sigh into my scarf. One day I noticed that he got off at the same stop as me, and a few weeks later I realized that we were passing through the revolving doors together. He works in my building.

I should say something, I should tell him hi. I should casually flirt without mention of the fact that I know where he lives. He carries a battered little man-bag, and I could say, “I like your murse.” No. That is not flirty, it’s a little insulting. “I like your bag.” Yes, I could say I like your bag, that would be ideal, that would be ultimate, why don’t I just say I like your bag. I have about fifteen seconds to well up the courage to do it, and ultimately I decide to watch him go. I back up against some brickwork to roll a cigarette while he crosses the street. My dress is too ugly to flirt with anyone today. If it wasn’t for the dress I would do it.