I check The Google just to make sure. It’s all true: on February 29th the Lord Our God uses his long fingers to create a ripple in time-space. The consequence is this: nothing on Leap Day counts.
My stomach growls. I open the fridge. All I have is a carton of eight eggs and half a cheese pizza. I crack two of them into a tumbler and slurp them down. The texture if fantastic, but the taste is borderline nauseating. I’m still hungry.
I buy a Caprese sandwich at Whole Foods and heat it in the toaster oven. A beautiful woman is waiting to heat her lasagna. I instinctively remove my semi-warm sandwich because nobody likes to wait. Are you sure it’s hot enough? She asks. I stare incredulously into her ocean-blue eyes. She’s genuinely concerned about my lukewarm lunch.
I cup my hand under her exquisite chin and kiss her soft, succulent mouth. So you wanna get out of here?
We check into the Trump International Hotel using my father’s credit card and have unprotected sex in sixty-nine different positions. She leaves to pick her daughter up from daycare (after flushing the semen out of her eyeballs).
Somehow I’m certain I got her pregnant.
I take an UberBLACK to Savoir Beds in SoHo to meditate on a variety of supportive surfaces. I’ve made my way through six sublime beds when the nervous, nerdy salesman asks if he can help me: what am I looking for? Leave me the fuck alone, I say softly. I see myself out before security arrives.
I stroll into a slick-looking Japanese restaurant. Table for one. I order the Calf’s Brain, which comes in what looks like a tube for toothpaste. I squeeze the creamy substance onto soft pancakes topped with caviar. I wash down the orgasmic meal with a fifteen-dollar Japanese IPA.
As soon as I exit the restaurant I vomit violently into a bush. Some of it comes out of my nose, and it stings. I straighten up, but am hit by another wave of nausea. I hurl cathartically for several more minutes.
I’m exhausted when I get home. I feel lonely so I re-read my philosophy professor’s comments on my term paper. I trashed all my coursework from college, but I saved every document containing her handwriting for desperate moments like these. I call her office and leave a voicemail. I love you. Will you marry me?
I don’t even need Benadryl to fall asleep. It comes to me instantly.
I’m awakened by the gentle hum of traffic. I check my phone: 10:22 a.m.
My stomach growls. I open the fridge. All I have is a carton of eight eggs and half a cheese pizza. I boil two of them to make an egg salad sandwich for later.