Formal dinner invitation sample

You sit shoulder to shoulder in the auditorium. Your scratchy black suit rubs against two arms wrapped in finer material. You shift in your seat, moving uncomfortably in the plush chair beneath you. Your leg is shaking; you are anxious for the show to begin. The massive room rumbles with murmurs of conversation—inquisitions about how the show will be, complaints of hunger, protests of too-tight clothing, and ties choking necks. You are silent.
September 6, 1981
Louise trudged up the dusty gravel path towards her home, a rotted trailer perched atop a steep hill. The bus driver never ventured up the path, leaving Louise to trek the quarter mile herself. She stopped momentarily and watched as the yellow bus sped away; the shadow of a lone hand waved her goodbye. She waved back, too late for anyone to see it, “Bye, Miles.”
Her house stank of cigarette smoke. The soft shag carpet collected to odor, spitting it out with every step. The windows and walls were yellowed with nicotine. The trailer was quiet; the constant droning of the radiator was the only thing to be heard. Louise set her backpack down and walked into the kitchen to make herself dinner. Her mother wouldn’t be home for several hours, and school lunch was never enough.
After Louise ate a measly bowl of microwaved leftover Kraft, she sat down to do her homework. She pulled out the math sheet they had gotten that day. Numbers shifted and combined; they peeled off the page and swam around her. Louise needed help. She dialed a number she knew by heart. The line rang.
“Hello?” a woman’s voice answered, her voice slightly distorted through the phone.
“Hi, Mrs. Wilson,” Louise said in a timid voice.
“Hi, Louise,” Mrs. Wilson’s voice softened, “I’ll get him for you.”
Louise heard her muffled yell, “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Hey Louise! What’s up?” a boy's voice asked.
“Hi, Miles. Have you done your math homework?”
“I’m doing it right now.”
Louise stretched the cord to where she sat at the table, “Great.”
The lights dim, and silence washes over the crowd. The curtains part. Fifty people in tuxedos sit on stage, various instruments in hand. The conductor stands tall. He introduces the orchestra, lifts his gloved hands, and the music begins.
March 9, 1983
“You’re still coming, right?” Miles questioned nervously.
“Yes, Miles, I’m still coming,” Louise rolled her eyes before smiling at him.
Miles relaxed a little bit, “Okay, good.”
Miles had mousy brown hair that was cut short. His dad had served in the military, so he thought this boy should have a ‘man’s haircut.’ He was tan even in the wintertime. He had bright hazel eyes that glowed electric green in the sunlight. Louise was about an inch taller than Miles, a fact she was immensely proud of.
The pair walked down the school hallway. It was Friday. Wonderful, glorious Friday. Louise rejoiced in the days that she didn’t have to come into school and pretend she liked people— pretend she liked anything, really. She hated the teachers, her peers, the hospital grey of the walls. She liked Miles. He ignored the cigarette stink of her clothes and the rudeness of her tone.
Today was Miles’ birthday. He’ll be ten. Miles had invited everyone to the party; there would be a bounce house. He’s ‘going all out for the big one o’ as he kept telling Louise. She was nervous about the party; her gift was okay at best, and she dreaded the disappointed but polite smile she knew Miles would pull.
“My mom will be here right after school to pick us up. You know what my mom’s car looks like, right?” Miles asked.
“Yeah, I remember.”
Lousie walked out to Mrs. Wilson’s car, a sleek, silver Porsche; Louise felt like a celebrity when she rode in it—rich and important.
“Hi, Louise,” Mrs. Wilson smiled, “How was school?”
“Hi, Mrs. Wilson. It was good.”
Louise settled into the plush leather seats and set her backpack in front of her. They sat in silence for a moment, the soft drum of the radio filling the air. Miles ripped open the door, excitement lighting up his face. He sat down, his position mirroring Louise’s.
“Hey, buddy. How was your day?” Mrs. Wilson asked.
“It was great, Mom,” he smiled.
She smiled back warmly, “Well, that’s good.”
Mrs. Wilson pulled out of the parking lot, Louise and Miles chatted idly about school and the party. After a short while, they pulled up to Miles’ house—a two-story white house with columns in front. Louise loved it. Sometimes, during sleepovers, late at night, she pretended it was hers. She quietly walked down hallways, running her fingertips across the smooth wallpaper. She felt the soft carpet on her bare toes and imagined it knew the shape and weight of her foot. She opened the fridge and pretended not to be surprised at the selection of food that awaited her. Then, she would return to Miles’ room and lie down next to him in the sleeping bag he lent her, stare up at the tiny glowing stars stuck on his ceiling, and pretend it was her and her mom that put them up— that it was her mom that held the step stool for her so she wouldn't fall.
Louise and Miles hopped out of the car, ran up to his room, and plopped their bags down. They still had a few hours before their other classmates would arrive. They sat on the ground and leaned against the bed. Louise pulled out Miles’ gift from her bag and handed the small gift bag to him, “Happy Birthday.”
“It’s not time for the party,” Miles said, confusion evident in his voice.
Louise shrugged, “I wanted to give it to you now.”
Miles smiled at her before gently taking the tissue paper out of the bag and reaching in. He pulled out a light blue paper swan. Lousie had spent hours getting the folds just right so the paper was sharp instead of rumpled. It was beautiful.
“Louise,” Miles started, his face curved into a slight frown, like he was about to cry, “Thank you.”
“Do you really like it?” Louise asked nervously; she fidgeted with her fingernails.
Miles set the swan down gently and dove towards her, wrapping her in a hug, “I love it.”
The party was a hit. Louise nearly made herself sick from the combination of an ungodly amount of candy and jumping in the bounce house. Almost everyone from their class was there, shoving presents in Miles’ hands before running to the snacks and entertainment. Night fell, and Louise climbed in the Porsche again, though it was just her and Mrs. Wilson this time.
“Did you have a good time, Louise?” she asked, making eye contact through the rearview mirror.
“Yeah, it was awesome. Thank you for having me,” Louise responded, polite as ever.
“Oh, you are always welcome, sweetie,” Mrs. Wilson smiled.
Louise looked out the window for the rest of the drive, the stars blurring against the black night sky. They pulled up to Louise’s house; her driveway was empty.
“Are you sure you are okay until your mom gets here?” Mrs. Wilson asked.
Louise smiled fakely, “Yeah I’ll be alright. She should be home soon.”
“Okay, sweetheart.”
Louise climbed out of the car and walked to her door. She looked back before stepping inside—Mrs. Wilson’s face was a mirage of pity and sympathy. Louise waved and stepped inside, choking down guilt as she did.
The sweet sound of a violin fills your ears—a lone instrument bellowing a quiet tune. It starts slow—soft, like a warm hand caressing your face, a mother wiping away your tears.
You forget yourself for a moment; you are back in your childhood home, where your bed is indented with your shape. You smell your favorite meal being cooked downstairs. You hear your mother humming her favorite song from the kitchen. Your father isn’t home yet. You are excited to see him.
You wish it were real.
It is not.
June 11, 1984
Louise was having a terrible day. Her mother was off work and slumming around the house— she was like a ghost in her own home, and she had nothing to do. They didn’t have cable this month, so Louise’s options were to sit in her bed and do nothing or visit Miles. She chose the latter. Louise bid her mom a short goodbye, telling her where she was going and not much else, and peddled off on her bike. She was drenched by the time she arrived at Miles’ house. So she ditched her bike in the grass and ran to ring the doorbell. Mrs. Wilson answered.
“Oh. Hello, Louise,” she smiled.
Mrs. Wilson was a nice woman, and Louise absolutely loved her. She was as thin as a twig but had a motherly warmth about her that Louise itched for. Miles was the spitting image of her, matching her tanned skin and bright eyes.
“I’m afraid Miles isn’t here,” she continued.
“Oh,” Louise said, disappointment swirling around her tongue.
“I’m sorry, hun,” Mrs. Wilson gave her a sympathetic look, “He’s out with his dad fishing for the day.”
“That’s okay,” Louise lied and started to walk back to where she abandoned her bike.
“Wait a second, sweetheart,” she called, “Do you want some lemonade? I’d hate to just send you home after you rode all this way.”
“Sure, Mrs. Wilson. Thank you.”
Louise followed her into the kitchen and sat down at one of the barstools to wait. It wasn’t long before she had a nice tall glass of lemonade in front of her and a bag of chips in her hand.
“You can go watch TV if you want,” Mrs. Wilson smiled at her, “I’ll be out in the garden if you ever need anything.”
“Okay, thank you,” Louise said.
She wandered into the living room, and the plush carpet under her feet felt amazing. She flicked on the television and turned it to her favorite cartoon station. She did feel strange behaving like she lived there, especially when the house was empty, but her desire to relax in the air conditioning trumped the feeling. She mindlessly watched Jerry outsmart Tom in the comfort of a home that wasn’t her’s.
Louise finished her snack but didn’t feel like returning home; she knew her mother would be there, heating the house with cigarettes and sex. Mary had moved on from Steve quickly. So, she laid down and continued watching television. At some point, she fell asleep. Louise woke up to the soft voices of Miles’ parents talking in the kitchen. Someone had turned the TV off and taken her dishes. She could hear the shower running upstairs. Louise had no idea what time it was; the sun was now visible in the living room windows, the sky was orange. She was about to get up and ask Mrs. Wilson when she heard her name. Miles’ parents were talking about her. She got up as quietly as she could and snuck closer to the swinging kitchen door.
“Is there something we can do?” Mrs. Wilson asked her husband in a concerned tone.
“I don’t think so, Jenny,” Mr. Wilson responded, “She just has a hard life, that’s all.”
“I feel like we should do more for her.”
Mr. Wilson sighed, “We can only help her when she’s here. You know what Mary thinks about handouts.”
“Oh, poor Mary,” Mrs. Wilson said, her tone sympathetic, “I should call her and tell her Louise is gonna stay the night.”
Louise heard footsteps sound in her direction. She ran as softly as she could back to her position on the couch, feigning sleep. Mrs. Wilson swung open the door and picked up the phone that hung on the wall next to it. Louise heard the click-clack of buttons being pressed, the muffled ringing, and then her mother’s voice on the other line.
“Hey, Mary,” Mrs. Wilson said, “Is it alright if Louise stays here tonight? She passed out on the couch and I don’t think it’d be smart to have her ride home now.”
Lousie couldn’t hear her mother's exact words, but she must have said it was fine because the next thing Louise knew, she was being picked up and carried up the stairs. Mrs. Wilson set her down in a room she was unfamiliar with. She figured it was the guest room. Mrs. Wilson kissed Louise gently on her forehead and told her goodnight in a whispered tone. Louise missed her mother.
The room was bird-themed. The walls were painted a dark navy, and a thin metal peacock stared at her from where it hung. A copy of the NATO phonetic alphabet was hanging, too. It must have been Miles’ old room. Louise remembered when he came to school in second grade and told her he was moving into the attic. There was an opening to the roof up there, and Miles was in love with the idea of sitting up there and watching the sun set and rise.
Miles was in love with a lot when he was little— the sun and sky, the warmth of his mother’s hugs, iced tea on a hot day. Louise didn’t think she was in love with anything. She didn’t think she ever would be. Louise was almost asleep, the plush, silky sheets lulling her into another bout of slumber. Her door squeaked open. Miles’ small frame was a shadow in the doorway. He looked so small. He didn’t walk into the room, choosing to loom in the entrance.
“Goodnight, Louise,” he said in a small voice.
“Goodnight, Miles.”
When you were little, you thought everything was perfect. The world was alive with hope and magic. Everyone got along, and there was nothing wrong.
Of course, now you know that is not true. But a part of you, a little tiny part, wants to go back to when you didn’t know. When life was good, and you didn’t know better.
That’s how the music sounds. Like you are an innocent kid sitting on the front porch eating a red cherry popsicle. The juice runs down your face. It looks like blood.
July 15, 1984
Louise was once again sitting in the back seat of the Wilsons’ Porsche, but this time, she was without a backpack-- sans her school clothes. She wore the itchy Easter dress her grandmother had gotten her two years prior. Louise wore it to her funeral. She stuck out like a sore thumb, a pastel beacon amongst the waves of black. It was Sunday—the Lord’s Day, as Mrs. Wilson had told her. Louise hadn’t been inside a church for a good reason—she’d never been to a regular Sunday mass. But last night, she had stayed the night at Miles’, so she was on her way to church. There were no ifs, ands, or buts about it.
They pulled into the parking lot, the ancient steeple looming over the car. Louise could recognize that it was a beautiful church, but the body of Christ hanging in the stained glass window did nothing to settle her nervous stomach. The pop of car doors sounded; there was no going back.
The wooden pew was uncomfortable, the kneelers even more so. She listened to Miles’ soft whispers of direction and did as he said. She fell and rose when she should; she crossed her arms instead of taking communion, she shook hands with strangers, and mumbled, ‘Peace be with you.’ And then it was over, and Louise was waking back to the car, her white flats cutting into her feet.
“What did you think, Louise?” Mrs. Wilson asked in a kind voice.
She shrugged her shoulders, “It was okay. I didn’t really know what to do.”
“You’ll learn,” Mrs. Wilson responded, a promise on the tip of her tongue.
Louise was silent on the ride back; she leaned against the window and watched as trees blurred together in a mirage of green. Louise didn’t know what it was like to believe in God. She thought she felt it there for a moment-- a quiet tingling in the back of her mind. But then she remembered that she wasn’t with her family; the Wilsons were not her parents. She remembered her mom was working a double today so they could have electricity. And what God would think that was fair? Not one Louise wanted to believe in.
The music sounds like the church hymns your mother made you sing. She meant well; she thought she was giving you the gift of her religion. You couldn’t tell her you didn’t want it. It was all she had ever known.
What child betrays their mother?
May 21, 1985
It was the summer after sixth grade. Lousie and Miles had biked to the pool in town, a desperate attempt to escape the heat. The air was thick and humid, and sweat sprouted from Louise's skin, dampening her shirt and shorts. The sun beamed down on her back; there wasn’t a cloud in sight. The pair parked their bikes out front and ran into the small building. A bored-looking teenager accepted their fifty cents each and let them in. The air reeked of chlorine, and the painted concrete was slick with warm water. Miles and Louise threw their towels down and began to shed their swimsuits. Louise’s hands were shaking with anticipation; she hadn't been to the pool in so long.
“Race you,” Miles said, darting towards the water's edge.
“No fair,” Louise groaned as she kicked off her flip-flops and ran after him.
Louise heard a distant whistle ringing and a call that running wasn’t allowed before she splashed into the blue depths. The cool water encapsulated her, and goosebumps formed on her skin. She bobbed to the surface and saw Miles climbing out and heading towards the diving board.
They stayed until the sun was beginning to set; Miles’ mom didn’t like him being out that late on his own yet, so they peddled back home soggy clothes and pruny skin.
When Louise returned to her house, it was dark. She could see the kitchen light shining out onto the brown lawn. Steve was home. Louise’s mom, Mary, had picked him up a few months back. He was a short, fat man. His breath always smelled like beer, yeasty and vile. He had dark hair and a beard to match. Her mother claimed she really liked him, but Louise knew she just needed someone to help pay the bills.
One of the few good things about having kids as young as Louise’s mom had her is that she never had a hard time finding a sleazy older guy to keep around. Being pretty also helped, and Mary sure was pretty. Mary was tall and slender, with long, curly auburn hair. She was covered in freckles and had eyes that glowed emerald green. When Louise was young, Mary would smile often, but as her eyebags grew, her smile faded. She could fake it when needed, but it was never like Louise remembered.
Mary and Louise could have been twins— minus the smile lines she didn’t think she’d ever have the chance to earn. Maybe that was why, when Louise walked into her kitchen in nothing more than a bathing suit, Steve forced himself on her.
You clutch the armrest on your chair, digging your nails into the fabric. The music is screeching, a distorted version of what it once was. You want to cry. You think your ears are bleeding. You bite the inside of your cheek, hoping to distract yourself from the perverted disgust mess of noise assaulting you. Your mouth tastes like metal. The urge to stand and walk, no, run, out of the theater is so strong you can hardly bear it.
You do not get up.
May 22, 1985
Miles called and asked if she wanted to go swimming again. Louise didn’t have the heart to tell him she never wanted to go swimming again, so she lied and said she was sick. Miles was at her door an hour later with a container of homemade cookies and Guess Who.
The two sit on the floor of Louise’s bedroom, the soft blanket she put down covering the scratchy carpet. Louise’s room was small and dingy. The walls were cracked and stained; she lived out of one small bureau that had been unceremoniously shoved into a corner of the room. Last Christmas, she begged her mother to help her hang lights on the ceiling. They were still up, casting a rainbow glow over the room. It was the only source of light she used. She had a small nightstand piled with pencils and markers; she had long since stained her light pink sheets while drawing. Cookie crumbles littered the floor. Louise was losing the game; most of her people were still up, while Miles only had about five people left to choose from. He chewed his lip in concentration. Louise usually laughed at him for it; he always seemed to take the board games they played too seriously. This time, she didn’t notice he was doing it.
“Does your person have brown hair?” Miles questioned.
Louise didn’t respond. “Louise? Are you alrigh—”
“Do your parents ever touch you?” Louise said, eyes trained on the floor.
Miles’ face scrunched up in confusion, “You mean like hugs?”
“No.”
“What do you mean then?” Miles questioned.
Louise’s eyes fogged up with tears, “Never mind. Let’s just play the game.”
Miles eyed her with sympathetic confusion before realizing what she meant, “Louise…”
He moved to hug her, but she flinched away from him. Miles sat back; he wasn’t touching her but was close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off of him. Louise sniffled, trying desperately to contain her emotion.
“Do you want me to leave you alone?” Miles whispered.
Louise turned to look at him, her face pale and puffy, “Please don’t.”
Louise and Miles sat like that for a long time. When the sun set, he got up and called his mom, begging her to let him stay the night. Louise didn’t hear the conversation, but Mrs. Wilson must have agreed because the next thing she knew, she was being guided to bed, and Miles was settled on the floor next to her, leaning against the bed and holding her hand.
The music turned sweet. It drifted through your ears pleasantly, passing over the cracked, dry blood. A chorus of flutes is playing, light and soft.
It feels like the pillow in your dorm room, childhood mixed with freedom.
You know this feeling won’t last. But right now, in this moment, you lay your head down and pretend the world is new.
May 17, 1986
Miles and Louise had biked miles to the movie theater. Miles had begged Louise to see the new movie coming out, one that Louise was less than excited about. He had been to the movies some months before with his mom and had seen the trailer. The next day, he begged her to see it with him when it came out, and she agreed, not knowing anything about it.
Miles was practically giddy with excitement. His eyes glowed with it. The theater was packed; they stood in the line shoulder to shoulder with what must have been every other kid in town. Louise clung to the red crushed velvet rope that segmented the line for dear life. The feeling of so many people pressed up against her was nauseating. She screwed her eyes shut, pushing down a wave of oncoming dizziness. Before she knew it she was being pulled along to the ticket stand. Miles produced them with a broad smile on his face, “Two for Top Gun.”
He then bought a giant thing of buttery popcorn and two glass Cokes. They made their way to their seats and waited for the movie to begin. Miles shoved popcorn in his mouth, salty yellow kernels going everywhere. Trailers for various movies played on the big screen— Miles leaned over nearly every time and asked Louise if she would go with him. She said yes every time.
The movie was beautiful. It was nothing like Louise had ever seen before; it made her yearn for the sky, the feeling of freedom unlike anything she would ever know. And then it was tragic, and she was crying in her seat, wailing over someone she didn’t know. Begging him to wake up.
They left in silence, walking to the bike rack to a chorus of shoes against pavement. They stalled for a moment before getting onto their bikes and parting their ways.
“What would you do if I died?” Miles said, his eyes trained on Louise’s.
“I don’t know,” her eyes were red and puffy, “I don’t think I could go on.”
“Me neither,” Miles agreed.
Miles stared at her for a beat before getting on his bike and peddling home. Louise imagined her life without Miles on the way home. Sharp metal against skin, blood seeping into water. She didn’t think it would be much of a life.
When you were in 6th grade, you played the clarinet. You always had a fondness for them.
They were the only ones playing, the dulcet tones of a wooden reed against black plastic. The song was picking up pace, like a heartbeat.
In 6th grade band, you sat next to a girl you liked. She was better at the instrument than you. You didn’t care. You remember taking her to the winter formal and carrying her shoes when her feet got sore. You remember your dad giving you the talk before you went.
You haven’t seen her in years. You wonder how she’s doing.
The clarinets are done with their solo. You forget about her again.
August 21, 1987
This year, Louise’s birthday fell on the first day of school. She dressed nicer than usual, an attempt at vanity that made her hate herself. Miles had given her a music box that played You Are My Sunshine. Louise had told him that she missed it when her mom sang it to her before bed. She cried in the bathroom.
At lunch, she stood in line with a group of girls in her PE class. Miles was a few feet ahead of her, and the kids in her school took cutting in line more seriously than she thought was necessary, so she stayed put. She stood silently while the girls talked about a teacher they didn’t like, choosing instead to eavesdrop on the conversations around her rather than contribute to the one she was in.
Brian Miller’s voice sounded broken and raspy, like a kid with money for cigarettes and not much else. He was a stereotypical bully, big and tall, with an ugly look plastered everywhere he went. He couldn’t stand the thought of someone not being in pain. He was talking to Miles, his voice loud enough for Louise to hear from where she was: “Why do you hang out with that poor girl all the time? Does she give it up easily?”
His lips were curled in a cruel sneer, showing off his yellow teeth. Miles looked at him, barely visible to Louise over the people between them. Then, suddenly, he wound up and punched Brian square in the face. Louise heard the crunch of his nose being broken— blood spurted on the floor and onto the onlooking students. Brian grunted in pain, bringing his hand to touch his bloodied face slowly before launching into a vicious returning attack. He only got a few punches on Miles before the nearest teacher pulled him away. Louise pushed through the crowd that had formed, leaning down at Miles’ side. His face was nearly unrecognizable; bruises were starting to form already.
“Why did you do that? Oh my god, Miles, why did you do that?” Louise choked out, tears fogging her vision.
“I love you,” Miles tried to smile, blood staining his teeth.
A teacher pushed Louise out of the way, assessing the damage. What felt like seconds later, an ambulance appeared, along with Mrs. Wilson. She was frantic; her hands were shaking with fear. Everything was silent. At some point, everyone had cleared out except Louise. She was standing here like an idiot, staring at Miles’ bloodied face.
Louise felt a strong hand grab her arm, a mother’s hand, “Come on, Louise. You can ride along.” Mrs. Wilson stood in front of Louise. Her eyes were red, but she had composed herself. Louise’s voice came out as nothing more than a whisper: “Okay.”
She let herself be pulled into the ambulance; the siren was the only thing she could hear. She watched as the EMTs worked, their skilled, gloved hands dancing over his body.
“Louise, he’s gonna be okay,” Mrs. Wilson whispered in her ear, “Come here.”
She pulled Louise into a hug, hiding her view of Miles. Louise closed her eyes against Mrs. Wilson, willing her breath to slow. They stopped abruptly at the hospital. Louise and Mrs. Wilson climbed out and watched as nurses and interns swarmed Miles’ gurney. They were ushered to the waiting room and sat down on hard, terribly patterned chairs. At some point, Mrs. Wilson called Louise’s mother to tell her where she was. A doctor brought them to Miles’ room after over an hour. His face had been cleaned and bandaged, and his nose was clearly broken.
“Louise,” Miles said, his eyes lighting up.
“Miles,” Louise responded, “Are you okay?”
“I’m right as rain,” he tried to smile but winced.
“Don’t lie to me, Miles.”
“I’ll be okay,” he reassured her, reaching up to squeeze her hand.
They stood like that until Louise’s mom came to get her. Louise crawled into Mary’s beat-up Sedan and slumped in the seat.
“Are you okay, baby?” Mary asked her.
“Mom, what if he died?” Louise ignored the question.
Mary sighed, “Sweetheart he’s fine. He’s just got a concussion and a broken nose.”
“I know,” Louise said, “I know he’s fine.”
The bags under Mary’s eyes seemed heavier today, and her face seemed more wrinkled. Louise looked more like her every day.
The music takes on a somber tone. Long, drawn-out notes fill the air. You think of your mother again, the way she looked sunken in her hospital bed— decaying before your eyes. You remember the feel of her bony, pale hands wiping away your tears in her final moments.
It was the first time you saw your dad cry.
The wail of violin chokes you.
December 17, 1988
Louise was lying on her back in Miles’ bed. He’s had the same one since they were kids; the box springs creak under their weight. Miles was above her, his eyes boring holes in hers. His parents were not home, the house was eerily quiet— the ambient creaking distracting Louise. His record player sang sweet music from his desk. His room was cluttered with dirty clothes and various knick-knacks. A blue paper swan sat on his bookshelf next to his worn copy of The Hobbit. His closet was open, casting weird shadows along the walls. The lights were off.
The soft touch of Miles’ lips trailed down her chest to her stomach. She tried to push down the nausea— make her body stop squirming. Her hand clutched his shoulder tightly. He had asked if this was okay. She had said yes.
Louise felt another article of clothing being slid off her body. She was cold. Her eyes shot to the ceiling. One glowing star was still stuck on the popcorn texture. Miles had taken them off the year before. He had missed one. Louise felt the heat of salty water run down her face into the soft pillow. She hated herself.
‘Dear God,’ she thought, ‘if you can hear me please, please just let me be okay. Let me want this.’
She didn’t receive a response. God wasn’t listening. It was just her and Miles in a house too big, in a world too small.
“Louise?” Miles said, his voice laced with concern, “Hey. Are you okay?”
All she could muster was an ‘I’m sorry’ before getting up, running into the bathroom, and emptying her stomach into the toilet.
The air stunk of sour yeast.
The music bounced up and down, building up to its crescendo. Excitement filled your chest, the entire orchestra almost all playing now.
A chorus of brass filled the air—French horns and trumpets battle for dominance on stage. Your eyes are wide in anticipation; you have waited the entire night for this.
You are sixteen, and you and your friends sit around a fire, passing a bottle of Jack around. It is the Friday before school starts. You wanted one last night of summer fun before your life filled with books and assignments.
The whiskey burns a path down your throat. It makes you nauseous. You get so drunk you can’t stand up. Your vision blurs as you stumble into the surrounding woods. You are alone. You vomit more than you thought was possible. You think you are going to die. You miss your mom.
You haven't drank since.
You don’t think you ever will.
August 4, 1989
The granite bar was cool under Louise’s fingertips. She sat in Miles’ kitchen, spinning nervously on the metal bar stool. She was chewing her lip; her mouth tasted like blood. Miles sat next to her, his demeanor the exact opposite of Louise’s.
“I mean, come on, Louise. What are you gonna do with your life?” Mrs. Wilson lectured her.
“I don’t know,” Louise mumbled.
Mrs. Wilson sighed, “Miles has wanted to be a pilot since he was eight. What do you want?”
Louise took a deep breath, “I don’t know. I’m sorry I can’t be like Miles. But I’m not your fucking kid so leave me alone.”
Louise stood up and stomped up the stairs. She heard Mrs. Wilson yelling her name, but she didn’t turn around. She buried herself in Miles’ bed, wrapping herself in his soft comforter. Louis heard the stairs creak with weight and then a knock on the door.
“Louise, I’m sorry,” Miles said, walking into the room.
Louise sat up, her face dry, “Why are you sorry? You didn’t yell at me.”
“I still feel sorry,” he said as he sat down next to her.
Louise took a deep breath and leaned on his shoulder. Miles rested his head against hers, “She loves you, you know.”
“I know.”
“She just wants you to do well,” Miles said.
“She wants me to be better than my mother,” Louise corrected.
“Is that so bad?”
The music doesn’t matter right now. You are fifteen, and your father is yelling at you about your future. You don’t know what you want to do. You want to be better than him.
He backhands you.
The arm of the person next to you brushes against yours. You jump. The conductor's hands are blurry with movement. The theater is alive with sound.
You miss your dad.
February 14, 1990
Louise and Miles sat across from each other in a restaurant that was too nice for the amount of money they brought. Louise ran her fingers across the laminated menu, fidgeting nervously with the edge of the paper. The restaurant was packed, Miles had made the reservations months in advance.
“Do you know what you want?” Miles asked.
Louise pursed her lips, “I think I’m gonna get the chicken piccata.”
Miles eyed the menu, “That looks good.”
“What are you gonna get?” she returned the question.
Miles smiled, almost boyishly, “The steak.”
Louise hummed in response. She set her menu down and reached for her water glass, running her finger across the rim. Condensation dripped down outside the glass, her fingerprints marking the surface.
“Are you excited about prom?” Miles asked.
Louise laughed a little, “Do we really have nothing else to talk about other than a dance in two months?”
Miles rolled his eyes playfully, “I guess not. What did we talk about when we were kids?”
“I have honestly no idea,” Louise smiled, “I don’t think we talked a lot. We mostly played.”
“We did play an ungodly amount of Donkey Kong.”
Louise chuckled, “God, was that game even good? Or were we just kids?”
“I honestly have no idea,” Miles smiled.
The waiter came by and took their order, collecting their menus and refreshing their drinks. It wasn’t long before their food arrived; the plates were decedent and beautiful. They left the restaurant with doggy bags in hand and significantly poorer than when they walked in. Louise clambered into Miles’ truck and waited for Miles to start it. But he didn’t. He was staring at her instead.
“What?” she asked incredulously.
He smiled at her, “I have something for you.”
Her face fell in surprise, “Miles, you told me the dinner was a gift.”
“Well,” Miles shrugged. He reached into his pocket and produced a small velvet box. She took it gingerly into her hands, excitement boiling in her chest. She opened the box softly and found two silver rings. One was engraved with ‘Miles,’ and the other said ‘Louise.’ Miles picked up the one that said his name and handed it to her.
“This one is for you,” he looked at her with huge puppy-dog eyes, “And the other one is for me.”
“Miles…”
“Do you like it?” he asked nervously.
She melted, “I love it. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he said, leaning in and kissing her sweetly.
“Are your parents home?” she asked against his lips.
“No, they won’t be home in hours.”
This time was different than the first. No bile rose up into Louise’s throat; she didn’t have to repress her squirming body. The air smelled like clean linen— fresh and new.
You are crying, and you don’t know why. The music sounds more like singing now, wrapping you in lyrics and hugs. You feel warm and fuzzy. Like you are a little kid who just got home after swimming all day. You are tired in the perfect way. You sink into your blankets and fall asleep.
A humming noise wakes you up. You are in the theater. There is music playing. You aren’t a kid anymore.
You had a drink at dinner before the concert.
You swallowed it with ease.
March 20, 1990
The hum of the radio filled the sweet night air. Louise and Miles lounged in the bed of his beat-up pickup. It was his father's old farm truck, a janky, rusty thing that only ran when it felt like it, but Miles loved it. It was his pride and joy. Any weekend he wasn’t with Louise, he was fixing it up; he would spend hours under the body of that thing, coming into the house reeking of oil and exhaust. Mrs. Wilson hated it; she feared for the safety of her nice beige carpet and the cleanliness of his jeans.
It was freshly spring; it was dry and warm for the first time this year. They were laying on his mother’s old picnic blanket, something she probably wouldn’t care for if she knew. It was pitch black, the only thing that illuminated them were the stars and the faint light of Louise’s kitchen light. They had returned from cruising around town, and neither wanted to go inside yet. They had been lulled into a comfortable silence, their hands knotted together perfectly. And then, suddenly, Louise had a question.
“Do you hate me?”
“Louise…” Miles sighed.
Nervousness leaked into her tone, “I was just making sure.”
“That I don’t hate you? Even though we’re dating?” Miles scoffed, “Why would I be with you if I hated you? What would I gain from that?”
“What if you were using me?” Louise said, her voice small.
“Oh my god,” Miles sat up and put his head in his hands, “‘What if’ Louise, when have I ever, in our entire lives, used you?”
“I don—” she started.
“If you are basing your fear of our relationship on ‘what ifs,’ maybe we shouldn’t be together. You are so absorbed in your past that it's like you aren’t even seeing me, not now, not in the present,” Miles shot at her.
“That’s not fair,” Louise said, her voice breaking with emotion.
Miles took a deep breath, “I’m sorry for what happened, and I get that healing is a hard and long process. But, Louise, I’m tired, too. ”
Hot, stinging tears rolled down Louise’s face, wetting the blanket, “I know you love me. Sometimes I’m just scared.”
“Why are you scared?” Miles whispered.
“I don’t know,” she sniffled, “I am what I am.”
“You are what you are,” Miles repeated, “And I’m tired of pretendning I can change that.”
“Then stop.”
Louise wiped the tears off her face and climbed out of the truck. Her receding footsteps echoed in Miles' head, a pounding that sounded eerily like his heartbeat— fast and hard. Miles sat there for a long while. The radio was still on, blasting The Smiths.
Trumpets blast loud, then louder. You think your eardrum might burst. Then, the music lulls to a stop. The lights do not come on. It is like the entire world has stopped to take a breath. One big inhale. You fill your lungs. The air smells like honeysuckle.
You are a child running in the yard with your dog. You are barefoot. You step on a bee. You limp into the house and cry to your mother. She puts your foot on ice.
You will never feel the grass on your bare foot again. You do not need to learn the lesson twice.

I know second round interviews are not just a formality nor do they mean I should take it for granted that I already have the job, but during dinner today (this second round interview is basically two days) they were talking like the position was already mine. More than a few times they said things like “when you move to [city name]…” or “when you’re [job title]…” or “when your wife gets here we can show her resources on…”. Now, if they said something like this once, even twice, I could chalk it up to a slip up, but it was MULTIPLE times over less than two hours. Granted, regardless, I’m still going to prepare for the interviews tomorrow, dress well, get some sleep, etc., but am I overthinking or does it seem like I basically got the job?

Hey fellow producers,
​
A user from this sub suggested that we create a Discord server dedicated to sharing links of sample packs, despite the fact that we already have one. However, I have recently noticed that the vast majority of premium pack links are not available to members who have not contributed to the current blitz packs, and I think that this will discourage many people from contributing. In the new server, we plan to allow members to access those links without having to contribute first, so to create a more positive and trust-based community. The server is pretty small as of now (around 10 members), but please consider joining if you are interested. Here is the invite: https://discord.gg/RzgUw6qChQ
Not sure if advertising is against the rules, so if it is, please feel free to inform me and I'll delete this post.

Hi! Hoping for some advice on how to ease my anxiety ahead of meeting my boyfriend’s parents for the first time this week.
We’ve been together for nearly 2 years, but his parents live across the country, so I haven’t had the chance to meet them yet. I’ve never facetimed or messaged with them either, so this is truly going to be our very first interaction. I think this has extremely heightened my anxiety. It’d be easier for me if he and I were just getting to know each other, not seriously discussing our future. I’m going into this with all parties knowing this is serious, and that his parents will be judging me through the lens of their potential DIL.
So that’s scary already. Then throw in the fact that I have terrible social anxiety and absolutely do not know how to initiate or hold conversation well… and that we’re meeting at a really nice restaurant for dinner, and my anxiety only spikes in formal environments… I’m freaking out! My biggest fear is coming off as really awkward and not good enough for their son.
I really want to make a good first impression, so any tips that could help me with that are very much appreciated too.

 My sister 30F and I 28F normally get along but since having my kids 1 male and 6 months female. My sister has told me all her plans to take the kids places. Even as far as saying she will be taking them to our fathers out of state this summer, and gets mad when I tell her no. I breastfeed my daughter and I don't trust our dad with my kids as he was very abusive to me growing up and kids are the trigger to his anger. My sister doesn't see it though. Well she has planned with our dad 60 male to take my kids to Disney in 5 years and when there 16 take them out of the country. I keep telling her no and she goes on to shame me that I'm a bad mom for holding my kids back. And gets more mad that I just tell her I want to keep them safe. More for the back story when I was 18 I was sexually Assaulted and almost rape by our cousin 29 male and when my sister was planning her wedding 2 years ago I had asked her not to invite him as I didn't want to see him and was afraid my husband might do something to him if he tried talking to me. I told my sister what he did to me and she was angry and told me she wouldn't invite him. But come to her rehearsal dinner and he was there. So my mom who knows what he did to me, confronted my sister when she came to our table. And I was told I needed to move on that were family and we need to stop shutting each other out. And she keeps trying to get me to see my brother and have him around my kids even though he was and still is abusive to me. Once again telling me to get over it and we need to be a family and it's not right to keep my kids from his kids. I know it's in the future but I never want my kids to go through what I had to go through and my sister has no respect for me or what I say. And I know I will probably over do it on trying to protect them but I have been sexually, mentally, physically and emotionally abused since I was a baby and I'm so afraid something will happen to my kids. So aita for not trusting my sister with bring my kids out of state and out of the country when they get older? 

 My sister 30F and I 28F normally get along but since having my kids 1 male and 6 months female. My sister has told me all her plans to take the kids places. Even as far as saying she will be taking them to our fathers out of state this summer, and gets mad when I tell her no. I breastfeed my daughter and I don't trust our dad with my kids as he was very abusive to me growing up and kids are the trigger to his anger. My sister doesn't see it though. Well she has planned with our dad 60 male to take my kids to Disney in 5 years and when there 16 take them out of the country. I keep telling her no and she goes on to shame me that I'm a bad mom for holding my kids back. And gets more mad that I just tell her I want to keep them safe. More for the back story when I was 18 I was sexually Assaulted and almost rape by our cousin 29 male and when my sister was planning her wedding 2 years ago I had asked her not to invite him as I didn't want to see him and was afraid my husband might do something to him if he tried talking to me. I told my sister what he did to me and she was angry and told me she wouldn't invite him. But come to her rehearsal dinner and he was there. So my mom who knows what he did to me, confronted my sister when she came to our table. And I was told I needed to move on that were family and we need to stop shutting each other out. And she keeps trying to get me to see my brother and have him around my kids even though he was and still is abusive to me. Once again telling me to get over it and we need to be a family and it's not right to keep my kids from his kids. I know it's in the future but I never want my kids to go through what I had to go through and my sister has no respect for me or what I say. And I know I will probably over do it on trying to protect them but I have been sexually, mentally, physically and emotionally abused since I was a baby and I'm so afraid something will happen to my kids. So aita for not trusting my sister with bring my kids out of state and out of the country when they get older? 

Hi there! I’m 26, central US timezone, and female!
SAFE FOR WORK ONLY.
Message me with your age, timezone (US Timezones Preferred), what plot idea you’re interested in, and a sample of your writing!
Partner requirements: must be 23-38 - Must play male (IRL gender doesn’t matter)- write in third person - at least two paragraphs - must be able to post once a day to every other day. Communication is key, please let me know if you are going to be busy for longer than a day or two or if you are no longer interested. NO AI ART OR WRITING.
I’ve been craving a good enemies to lovers roleplay for awhile now and what’s a better enemies to lovers roleplay than something revolving around the mafia?
Plot idea #1: Your character has recently taken over the family business. My character is a college student on a study abroad trip that happens to see something they weren’t supposed to. Y/C’s men that were handling the deal take her back to the main ‘headquarters’ and keep her locked up, leaving Y/C to deal with her.
Plot idea #2: Your character is in a small gang that is tasked with kidnapping the naive daughter of a mob boss that stole money from another. Basic idea, can be fleshed out more together.
Plot idea #3: your character would be a police officer that’s gone undercover with some small local gangs to bust a couple of drug dealers and whatnot. Having done such a great job there, he is offered a bigger mission and if he takes it, when he returns to his actual station, he will get a bigger raise, new car, K-9 unit, some sort of special thing that he’s been working towards. This bigger mission would be infiltrating a bigger mafia family that seems to be running all these smaller ones. Thanks to some forged documents, lies spread around, and some of the actual dirty work he has done over the last six months, the head of the family invites him to a nightclub to chat. The chat leads to the offering of a position within the family, a personal bodyguard for the mob bosses daughter after the situation that happened with her last one. It’s his first break through and they’re welcoming him with open arms. Does he accept?

Hi! Hoping for some advice on how to ease my anxiety ahead of meeting my boyfriend’s parents for the first time this week.
We’ve been together for nearly 2 years, but his parents live across the country, so I haven’t had the chance to meet them yet. I’ve never facetimed or messaged with them either, so this is truly going to be our very first interaction. I think this has extremely heightened my anxiety. It’d be easier for me if he and I were just getting to know each other, not seriously discussing our future. I’m going into this with all parties knowing this is serious, and that his parents will be judging me through the lens of their potential DIL.
So that’s scary already. Then throw in the fact that I have terrible social anxiety and absolutely do not know how to initiate or hold conversation well… and that we’re meeting at a really nice restaurant for dinner, and my anxiety only spikes in formal environments… I’m freaking out! My biggest fear is coming off as really awkward and not good enough for their son.

I recently split on two of my friends. I had moved to a different city from them a few years back (only 2.5 hours away so no big deal). They moved in together after one needed a place to stay, and now they spend ALL their time together. Which is fine, they live together so that makes sense, but I mean they are going out places, hanging out with other people, having dinner parties, and I am NEVER invited. We were an inseparable trio. I am always the one who says “hey I’m in town” or “do you guys wanna make plans to hang out sometime”, it is rarely the other way around. I told them multiple times that just because I live a little bit away, doesn’t mean you can’t invite me to stuff, I might not be able to come every time, but I would try my best! Doesn’t matter that I said that I guess, because they still don’t invite me, so I stopped asking.
We usually communicate over Instagram so we could send memes to each other, but I couldn’t stand seeing them live so happily independently of me, so I cut them out and have split on them. It has been about a month until one of them finally reached out to say hi about a week ago, and even then it was one of the fastest conversations ever and they just stopped replying after we went back and fourth maybe 6 times. I got a voicemail from them today saying hi again. I didn’t see my phone ring so that’s why it went to VM, but even so, I don’t think I would have had the emotional energy or stability to answer my phone.
I know my one friend is just starting to reach out, but I feel angry that it has taken them (never mind my other friend who hasn’t reached out at all) a MONTH to realize I haven’t said anything to them. I’m so conflicted. I love them so much, but I am SO mad at them and have split. I want them to talk to me, but I don’t want to text or call them. I miss them, but I want to be alone. I don’t have many friends to begin with, and I feel everything and nothing over this situation all at once.

We’ve been broken up since sept but we’ve been talking. I’m supposed to go visit her Friday. She’s said she’s not in the place for a relationship but wants to see me which feels like a mixed message.
During our relationship, I stayed when I really shouldn’t have. I tried so hard to get her to be a decent partner. She wasn’t. She was awful. I’m too embarrassed to give details. There was Emotional cheating, not making time for me, telling me my feelings were too much, prioritizing her family of origin and work and friends over me, the list goes on.
Since we’ve been apart she’s made significant improvements in our dialogue that have made me feel she’d be a better partner. She invited me to see her, but then work had a last minute dinner which required her attendance cutting out time short.
She tried to make amends by offering me to stay longer (so I’d be taking care of her dog while she’s away so she doesn’t have to fly her mom or dad in to watch the dog - she won’t board her).
Today I found out she’s got a 10day vacation planned w her bestie over my birthday in July.
It’s super triggering for me.
The straw that broke the camels back for me and ended our relationship has to do w a trip we planned but I never went on. This was after two years of me pressing for a vacation and her saying “I’m not a good planner and I have too much work and can’t take time off”. We had been on trips w her fam but never just us 2. After 3 years. We can both afford it- she just didn’t want to. So she had invited me on a work trip but she didn’t make arrangements for a dog sitter so I agreed to watch the dog and was resentful about it.
The hurt was compiled for me by the fact that she couldn’t commit to our relationship past the house we were renovating. She needed me to get through the Reno . Multiple times she said she wasn’t sure if she wanted to be togther or live together after we finished. (after I finished renovating her house).
So now i found out she’s got this ten day trip planned for her bestie, overseas. Over my b day. It’s triggering.
When we were togther , She wouldn’t plan a vacay w me and didn’t respect me wanting to not have her fam over for my bday. I told her many times I want our anniversary and my birthday to be just us. Both were ignored.
I told her that hearing about the trip she planned was making me feel some kind of way - and she replied that I was pushing her away, and if we couldn’t move on then I shouldn’t come.
That’s the nice version. Really she blamed me for having feelings and not being able to move on. And said that is pushing her away.
I basically said , I need someone who can hear my feelings and respond in a way that isn’t defensive, doesn’t blame me, and can take accountability for past actions.
She’s quiet. No response.
This is a giant fucking red flag right?
My gut knows this is toxic.
But her words make me feel like I’ve messed up. And I’m trying to be supportive and stable and secure for her.
But she’s really been awful in the past and I’m scared it will repeat and she’s asking me to forget the past and move on and she says I can’t do that , that I am to blame bc I can’t do it and I shouldn’t come down and see her since I Can’t move on. I just want a little reassurance and maybe to hear where she’s at and I don’t think that’s too much to ask.
Just writing this feels like I’m making her out to be a shit bag but that seems harsh. Idk why I love her and can’t move on. I think I’m just being strung along.

Ok so this is about my mom, she is the crazy MIL from hell and may God bless my new sister in law for what she put up with on her wedding day and every second of planning. My (23f) brother (26M) brother we'll call Sam got engaged a few years back and got married in May 2023 to Ann (also fake name). I wish that they would have hired a videographer to capture the day because I feel like there are so many things I honestly can't even remember them all. For starters leading up to the wedding my mother was a problem. It started small here and there but the first big blow up on Sam and Ann was when they told her they weren't getting married in a church. My mom and my god fearing grandma acted like Satan himself was going to crawl out of the ground and damn them to hell right there. My brother unfortunately didn't do much to calm down the situation and just let them be mad as they continued to plan the wedding. The second blow up happened when my brother had the "audacity" to invite our dad and step mom to the wedding. Our parents got divorced about 6 years ago and she can't get over it despite their marriage being over for 10+ years. She still to this day calls him "satan". (For reference my dad is a great guy who has never done anything to hurt or abuse us) Again they pushed on with planning.
Finally we get to wedding weekend. I was beyond stressed. Things first started going south at the rehearsal dinner where my mom chanted Whore to my step mom at the top of her longs to a room full of people. (My step mom being a breast cancer survivor and the nicest woman I've ever met. The mom I never had). The unfortunate thing is you can't do anything when my mom acts like this because she feeds off the attention and loves to make everyone else's life miserable.
Finally we make it to wedding day. Most of the day started fine and I don't even see her until we are done with hair and makeup and at the ceremony space ready to do group and family pictures. That's when I see her walking over looking like she's being held up.... BY HER THERAPIST. Yes that's right, she invited her therapist to the wedding. We were mortified. She then refused to get into any pictures that involved my dad so pictures took ten times longer than they needed to cause be kept having to switch groups in and out. (Jokes on her though I just photoshoped her into all the pictures).
Then it's ceremony time. She looks awful. It's only probably 10am but it is clear that she might have already had something to drink. So we slowly all make it down the isle and stand at our spots and the ceremony was great, I cried a lot and I'm really happy for them both. And besides my mom falling asleep in the front not much happened. Her therapist woke her up and that was that. BUT THE RECEPTION. Here is some rapid fire of what happened because there is so much it could be a book. 1. She again kept walking past my step mom and calling her a whore (not as loud this time, how kind). Every time she tried to walk over to my step mom her therapist grabbed her arm and swept her away like a toddler. 2. She was grinding all over her boyfriend on the dance floor (her second cousin btw 🤢) 3. She yelled at my sister bf and spit on mine 4. She moved around place cards at tables so staff were scrambling confused why all the seats and dinner plates were so off 5. There's more but best for last. She was beyond drunk. Like you could tell she was not in the right state of mind. So fun fact, we told the bar staff not to serve her anything with alcohol. So the therapist (who ended up helping us big time) went up the the bar staff and started yelling at them for serving and over serving her. And they said "we've given her nothing but cranberry juice all night"
There is more but it starts getting into even deeper family drama and issues so sorry won't be sharing that, but I am happy to say that it has almost been a year since the wedding and that day was the day I decided to go no contact with her! I've been no contact since and living my best life!

My (FTM19) partner, Moz (M23) works at some revenue office. It isn't his scene at all, but the pay is a bit more than the minimum wage we got by on before.
Ever since he started, Moz has always been lamenting to me about how miserable he is at his job, its a nightly occurrence. At first, I chalked it up to him just being his usual self, he's always very sarcastic and cynical, but I think he genuinely does hate it there. According to him, his co-workers are always ready to take the piss out of him, they're all friends with each other and he's not included in whatever they all have going on. They make fun of him because he is painfully shy, bit of a smart arse, he dresses pretty 70s. He's not really a lad's lad, he's too sensitive for that type of thing.
A new woman started working in their section of the office recently, Libbie (F28). Moz has said a few times that she's basically a Lad stuck in an attractive woman's body, she's identical in personality and hobbies to their other co workers, only difference being that she actually tries to befriend my partner. I thought originally that that'd be a positive, but he despairs. Apparently she's very in your face and overwhelming to be around, she doesn't get the hint that he doesn't want to be friends or even acquainted with her. She's tried a few times to invite him out to places with her, or to parties but Moz has always declined.
There was some kind of work dinner going on last week and after much cajoling from me, Moz decided to go. Libbie was insistent on Moz walking her home and when he refused she offered to spilt the taxi fare with him, though she ended up coming to our place rather than her own home.
I was surprised to see them, it was almost 9pm, I looked a huge mess because I'm 7 months pregnant and sick and the flat was in a bit of a state. I could just tell that Moz was feeling awful and uncomfortable, he tends to practically chew his lip off and blushes.
Libbie tried to be nice and causal but that was beyond her, she was loud and insistent on being given an apartment tour and was just being super patronising in how she spoke to me, she acted as if she was in her own apartment. I asked her if she didn't think she was being pushy by practically forcing herself into being invited over? To which she called me a rude little guy, and started joking around with Moz about me practically being an impertinent kid and stuff. I ended up telling her to leave, that she wasn't welcome here at all. She told me that I was acting like a dick.
The next morning, Moz and I talked about it and he said that while she shouldn't have come over, she was tipsy and that he's surprised I was angry about the jokes since I make similar ones myself. He said that I should've let him sort it out himself because now they're going to be even worse at work.

This field guide is meant for the influx of Divers who joined up in the advent of the Second Galactic War and serves to encourage fellow divers to learn the most basic and rudimentary of co-operative fundamentals (see: etiquette). As such, it should be read with the intent to reduce and minimize 'toxic elements' in operational capacities.
On Removal of Squad Mates from Mission Capacities:
At times divers may find themselves beset by traitors in their midst. These traitors can and should be dispersed by squad leaders when just cause is presented. However, squad leaders who disperse divers without just cause should be considered traitorous; the denial of adequate pay in requisition slips and needed research materials (formally known as 'samples') is necessary for all divers to further democracy. The dispersal of patriotic divers under the guise of "traitors" without just cause is among the highest forms of treason - aiding and abetting the enemy, especially so when performed during mission extraction.

• Friendly Fire is not Just Cause: Divers are subjected to rigorous training elements to take the utmost effort to avoid friendly fire (both administering and receiving). Most friendly fire is accidental, incidental, and coincidental. While some cases may present themselves for a squad leader to make a judgement call, they should not disperse divers from operations purely because of incidental casualties.
  • Addendum: Squad leaders are highly encouraged to "laugh it off" or submit a rest and relaxation request in the event they are unable to make good judgement calls.
  • Addendum: Use of the 'Sorry!' strategem after accidental friendly fire is highly encouraged.
• Sample Acquisition is not Just Cause: The findings of research materials is disseminated among all divers in their respective operations. Which diver has possession of research materials when they are submitted for inquiry (upon boarding the shuttle) is not considered. As such, the dispersal of divers with high quantities of materials for the purposes of obtaining 'credit' for their submission is be a form of treason.
• Subsidiary Mission Objective Exploration is not Just Cause: Divers are encouraged to take any means necessary with which to attain research materials - up to and including breaking away from squadrons to do so, if the flow of battle warrants such. As per Ministry of Truth standards ("get those samples!"), research materials are a key element to our victory. Dispersal of divers from squads who are successfully obtaining materials should not be confused with "rogue elements".
  • Addendum: Referring to earlier clause pertaining to good judgement calls, squad leaders are highly encouraged to provide ample questioning and warning to collapse proximity before resorting to dispersal.
• Equipment Selection is not Just Cause: While some equipment options are more adequate for select mission and operational capabilities, all equipment options are tested and proven viable (with the exception of some incendiary and air-burst launcher capab-REDACTED: Pending investigation). Squad leaders should not disperse divers on the basis of equipment selection.
  • Addendum: Many divers are given Personal Orders to use specific, select equipment for field testing. Dispersal of divers in the process of completing Personal Orders is considered an especially high form of treason.
• Rank is not Just Cause: All divers are considered resources toward achieving victory, regardless of rank. While upper echelons have more varied equipment options, divers' ranks are not an indicator of effectiveness. Squad leaders should not disperse divers on the basis of rank.
• Replacement of Preferential Elements MAY be Just Cause: Divers fulfilling SOS Requests are doing so to assist in mission objective completion. Replacement of divers with preferential elements ('friends') may be just cause, but squadrons are highly encouraged to provide prior warning and an opportunity for the respective diver to leave - of their own volition - with grace and dignity.
  • Addendum: Squadrons should only commit to this option upon mission completion (aboard their destroyer) as to not prevent payment of requisition and research materials to dispersed divers.
  • Addendum: Remember that the option to restrict squadrons to preferential fulfillment ('friendly-only') is a viable option.

On Reinforcing Squad Mates during Mission Capacities:
A full squadron of divers - consisting of four (4) elements - is the most effective means of conducting and accomplishing mission objectives. Divers are highly encouraged to make use of their Destroyers' reinforce strategem with which to replenish casualties. Excessively delayed, unnecessarily delayed, or outright failure to reinforce fallen divers when capability to do so presents is a form of treason as it undermines mission capabilities. If squadrons are not shooting, committing to a tactical retreat, or otherwise pre-occupied with mission objectives, they should be reinforcing.

• Reinforcing for Divided Elements: In the event that squadrons are divided to attain multiple mission objectives simultaneously, it is the responsibility of the nearest element to reinforce. If no such element exists, responsibility to reinforce falls on the remainder of the squadron.
  • Addendum: Referring back to clause of 'Subsidiary Mission Objective Exploration', fallen divers are still in need of reinforcing - especially so in the case of re-obtaining collected materials.
• Reinforcing in Unsafe Conditions: In the event that squadrons are heavily suppressed, divers should make every effort to reinforce safely, with several factors to consider:
  • Proximity to Equipment: Quick retrieval of deployed equipment is optimal and preferable to deploying new equipment, especially so when strategems are being re-armed.
  • Proximity to Research Materials: Retrieval of research materials is a core element of our victory.
  • Proximity to Enemy: A reinforcing diver deployed into the middle of enemy forces - while a unique and opportune distraction - is a short-lived, waste of resources.

On use of Resupply Strategems:
Divers are encouraged to make use of Resupply Strategems, rearming and re-equipping themselves with vital mission resources. However, divers should make note of what materials they have available before obtaining supplies. A single supply box will (roughly speaking) replenish half of maximum materials and ammunition. If divers are unsure if they should rearm with an additional supply box, they are encouraged to wait until the remainder of the squadron has received needed materials.
Addendum: Divers are also highly encouraged to make use of materials available on the battlefield instead of relying entirely on resupply strategems. The delay to replenish the strategem is a lengthy one.
On Strategem Request During Extraction:
Squadrons are permitted and encouraged to use strategems during extraction to show our enemies fearlessness and 'flash'. However, divers should take the utmost caution to time their strategem requests to reduce and minimize both friendly fire and failure to acquire research materials. Best practices are as follows:

• Be the last one on the shuttle: Divers within shuttle compartments are nigh invulnerable on account of shuttle armor plating.
• Proper Timing: Inexperienced divers should only request strategems on extraction when the shuttle has fully landed and lowered its ramp
• No risk to high-value research materials: Divers who, with relative certainty, know that there is little to no risk of high-value research materials posed through the request of strategems on extraction.

This completes the field guide.

This has been driving me CRAZY and I am nearly positive that I am not the AH, but I just want to check and make sure.
(Warning— this story contains Poop)
About six months ago, my brother, his wife, and their 10-year-old son/my nephew visited me in California. They planned a brief stay at my house, and on their third day, my brother and his wife decided to take a romantic getaway to Santa Barbara. Initially, they intended to bring their son/my nephew (let’s call him Little Johnny), but I offered to watch him so they could enjoy some alone time. My sister-in-law (let’s call her Donna) wasn’t so sure about the idea. She has never liked me, she sees me as a carefree bachelor and believes that I am going against God’s will by not settling down to procreate. I also am not fond of her, at all. But anyway, my brother convinced her it was fine and they head off.
The day they left, Johnny and I had a blast. We swam in my pool, played mini-golf, I let him shoot me with paint balls and we watched a Lakers game on TV. I let him eat pizza and candy and stay up an hour past his bedtime. You know, I was going the “cool uncle” thing. The next day we planned to go to his first Dodgers game. I was surprised when I got up early and found him downstairs, already showered and dressed. The game was fun, but unfortunately, Little Johnny was quieter and mentioned his stomach hurt, so we left early and headed home.
His parents were due back a few hours later and they’d then be heading to the airport. I plopped Little Johnny on the couch with an iPad so that I could feed and play with the dog and do some Sunday chores around the house. I went to check the guest room where he was staying to make sure that he was packed and ready to go. I open the door and was met with an astonishing smell of poop. At first, I thought it was my dog who was there next to me. So I said “Oh no did you do this?” And pointed him to walk out the room. I then tiptoed around the room looking for a log on the floor. I then realized that it couldn’t have been the dog because the bedroom door had been closed. Uh oh. I should have known something was up when I saw that the bed was made. So I lift up the duvet cover and there is diarrhea EVERYWHERE. He must have had an accident and then rubbed his legs all around spreading it everywhere while asleep. It was all over the sheets and the duvet cover. And he’d hidden a towel under the bed that he must have used to at least try to clean some of it up.
So, I rip off the duvet cover and the bottom sheet and throw them into the washer and run them on the hottest cycle using Tide bleach detergent.
I’m now wearing an N-95 mask, a hoodie and kitchen gloves when I reenter the room. I now see that the poop has penetrated both the duvet cover and the bottom sheet, because there are splattered stains on the down duvet, and then there’s a big, circular, deep looking stain on the mattress— right in the middle. This is the hot zone. The stain has now probably been sitting there for over 12-hours since he didn’t tell me about it, so now it’s all dried in there. Meanwhile little Johnny is trying to come upstairs but I’m telling him not to because I’m “on an important phone call.” I don’t want him knowing that I know because I don’t want to embarrass him.
I’m googling how I can possibly salvage the mattress so I’m trying to scrub it with hydrogen peroxide, but nothing is working. This is a very expensive latex mattress made by this brand Avocado Mattress. This mattress for the guest room was a Queen with medium plushness and cost me $2500! Their beds go all the way up to $6k! But I wanted my guests to have a comfortable place to sleep when they stay so I splurged. And that weekend was the first time the mattress had been slept on! My brother and his wife were on it the first two and then little Johnny Poopy Pants the third. And now this.
I decided not to confront my brother or Donna upon their return to avoid embarrassing Johnny, hoping they would offer to help with the costs later.
The next day, I pay some upholstery cleaning company to come and try to shampoo and vacuum it all up with their industrial wet-vacs (another $400) and it helps a little, but the brown stain is still plain as day. It’s a big brown crater. I guess latex absorbs any sort of moisture or fecal matter deep into its fibers. The cleaning guys tell me that it’s fine to sleep on. The smell is gone and it’s been totally sanitized, so nobody will know once a sheet is on top. excuse me, what? I don’t care. There’s a giant brown stain on the middle of the mattress. I’m not going to make anyone sleep on there. Plus, it’s all I’ll think about each time I pass by the room. Of course the warranty for the mattress doesn’t cover accidental feces, so, I throw the brand new mattress out. I also threw out the white goose down comforter (which also wasn’t cheap) as well as all the bedding. I just wanted it gone.
A week later, I recounted the incident to my brother in what I intended as a light-hearted manner, hoping for some recognition of the situation. I didn’t outright say that I now needed a brand new matttess but it was pretty clear. He said he’d talk to Donna about what could have happened with little Johnny, and I then hoped that she’d understand the situation and I’d get a call, but none came.
So, I wait. I even speak with my brother on the phone a few times like we always do, but it’s never mentioned again. Neither of us like confrontation. I try to let it go. But I’ve just moved into this new house. I had just bought this really nice mattress for my guest room, and now there’s just a bed frame sitting there. I kept going to the Avocado website, putting the same $2,500 mattress into my cart and then I’d then think “wait, why on earth am I paying for this mattress? I didn’t poop on the mattress for F’s sake!” And the thing was only three days old!
So last week, my sister-in-law Donna calls to say that they’re coming to LA for the weekend in two weeks for a wedding. I can tell she’s fishing for an invite to stay at my house so they won’t have to spring for a hotel. So (this was kind of evil of me) I said of course they can stay (knowing that they couldn’t because I don’t have a mattress!) She’s happy. Ten minutes later, I call and say “oh shoot, I completely forgot, you can’t stay here because unfortunately I still don’t have a mattress after the weekend with Little Johnny.” I then told her they were welcome to the couch, or they could bring an air mattress to put on the empty bed frame. It was at this point that I think she understood where I was going. She said they’d just figure something else out, and that was that. I made plans to go out to dinner with just my brother on the Thursday night before the wedding. Donna was seeing her friends in LA that night which I was thrilled about in general, but also because I wanted to talk to my brother about the mattress situation since I know that he is a lot more sensible than she is. I honestly think that him not immediately offering to pay for the mattress was more a case of his extreme ADD. I sometimes think he’s on the cusp of Asperger’s the way he misses some social cues. I knew he’d understand, especially without Donna there who tends to be in charge. She’s loud and from New Jersey and sometimes it really shines through, no offense to those in Jersey. And my brother is pretty docile.
So I get to dinner, and I see my brother AND DONNA at the dinner table. Damnit. I guess her friends bailed, I don’t blame them. We have a nice meal. My brother and I are doing a lot of reminiscing which Donna doesn’t like very much because it doesn’t include her (I know it sounds like I’m piling on her right now but I can’t help it). When dinner is winding down I decide to politely broach the subject. I tell them how fun it was spending time with little Johnny, how much he reminds me of my brother when he was his age and how I’d happily watch him anytime they needed me to. I then just said something like “listen, it’s not a big deal, but I just bought my house as well as everything in it, and it’s finally all done, but I want to replace the mattress so the guest room is usable again.” My ADD bother, not getting it, was like “I bet. It’s a great place. We loved staying there.” I look over at Donna and she’s scowling at me and says something like “so this is why you brought us to dinner? So you could embarrass us and our son?” So now we’re in it right away. And I tell her (I was probably the AH here) that I didn’t invite her to anything. It was meant to be just my brother and I. She just showed up.
She tells me to F off and says that I’m “trying to embarrass them and their son by bringing it up.” WHAT? I tell her that I’m not mad or trying to shame Johnny at all, but I didn’t poop in the bed. Her son did. Why should I have to pay for the mattress? My brother is just like “ok everyone calm down this has been a nice even…” but we’re just talking over him. She then tells me that it’s my fault for not having a waterproof mattress protector. What? Why would I have that? I hadn’t planned on any of my friends or family having explosive diarrhea in my bed! She also said that I could have easily had it professionally cleaned which obviously did.
This was the best, she then asks “Did my parents ask you for a new swimming pool after you vomited in it during our wedding?” She then called me a lush. They got married at her parents house and yes, I did throw up in the pool at the end of the night, BUT 1) The wedding was 12 years ago! We were all in our 20’s 2) had her parents asked, you can be sure I would have been at the bottom of the pool the very next morning, in scuba gear, with a scrub brush and some bleach to clean up any of the last remnants. I had apologized to them profusely the following morning and they laughed it off 3) A dry, latex mattress and a continuously filtered, chlorinated swimming pool are two completely separate things and 4) Poop outgrosses vomit any day of the week and it always has. There’s no denying that.
She then says, flat out, that they’re not paying for it. Now mind you, she doesn’t earn the money in the family, my brother does. She looks after Little Johnny ,which believe me, I know is just as tough of a job, I mean that, my mother raised me and was lucky enough not to have to work because my brother and I were enough of a job, but it’s not actually her earned money. She then says “you can buy your own mattress Mr. Moneybags.” She knows I hate it when she says stuff like that more than anything, especially because my brother EARNS MORE $ than I do! I just don’t have a family to take care of so I can afford a nicer car or a bigger TV.
My brother just wants this to end so he says “listen, we’ll work this out, he was nice enough to look after Johnny and it happened while he was there so we’ll do what we need to…” She then interrupts him and says “he’s not getting a thing. He wants to embarrass us and our son just because he can’t take care of a mattress.”
So I then say (rather passive aggressively) “Listen, Donna, forget I said anything. On Monday, I will call Tom (my bother) in the office and we will work this out like level-headed adults, like my brother and I both are, without you. And I will be paid for the mattress. So, you’re done, you don’t have to worry about it anymore. We’ve got it from here. Well from there it kept going downhill.
AITA here? I am pretty sure that I am not, I just want to make sure that I’m not being crazy. I was nice enough to look after my nephew so that my bro and his wife could have a relaxing night away. I took him to a baseball game, kept him entertained and we had a great time. He then pooped all over my brand new Avocado mattress and didn’t tell me about it all day so the stain had 12 hours to set it. I’m not blaming the kid. Accidents happen, but I didn’t poop the bed… My dog peed on my good friend’s carpet last year and I paid for a carpet cleaning service to come without them even asking, it’s common decency. I even offered to buy them a new rug the cleaners couldn’t get it out! It’s just what you do. And we’re talking poop here!!

Two staff who JUST met me have alluded to it in a room full of students (thanks 🙄). A few students also suspect it too and ask probing questions trying to see if I react.
Essentially what it is, is that my tutor who is only about 35 (I’m 24 postgrad) seemed to have a crush on me. Conversationally we have a natural chemistry and we obviously think in a similar way. I think there might have been a few moments but I’ve never seen him outside class. He invited me to come back after class a few times in the first term when we just met. I declined at the time because I felt that it could go somewhere and I didn’t want it to happen. I think that could have been what started the rumour.
At times when he had to give formal feedback he was struggling to be “harsh” like he is with the others. One teacher noticed and accused me of getting him to do my work for me (obviously later it became obvious that I do my own work). I do think he has a crush on me and is confused about his feelings (he’s in a long term relationship).
We had a very brief and subtle falling out for two weeks. I think he felt that I was giving mixed signals and was hurt over it and he refused to print stuff for me after he said he would 6 times over three weeks. So I called him out in class, he tried to be snarky and said “well there’s nothing stopping you from printing?”, then he noticed I was mad and he made up an excuse that there had been print queues. I said if that if that was the reason then he should have told me. He was about to start denying but stopped mid sentence and had to leave the room for a few moments to calm down. I could tell he was sorry when we had our 1:1 time in class, but I felt it was necessary for me to be harsh because he was basically acting on his feelings instead of doing his job.
I think he had a few ego moments since then and I don’t like him so much anymore because I feel he’s not being subtle and he’s fuelling the rumour. But he hasn’t done anything hugely inappropriate yet. Generally he seems happy to see me. When I enter class he tends to look at me more than the others, he’s more helpful and much kore complimentary and smiley with me. There’s another tutor (female) in her 50s who likes to act like she’s best friends with him and other staff. She’s kind of awful at times and was laughing at student’s work during the assessment presentations and she noticed he was totally ignoring it because I was sitting on the other side of him.
The whole thing is confusing because technically nothing has happened. I can tell he likes me (a lot of tiny things I noticed, like he’s definitely lurking on my Twitter), and I think if we hadn’t met in this context then I might have liked him back. But the snarky comments from the new teacher last week who had JUST met me really pissed me off. She saw something I had designed and immediately asked if he had done it for me. Bare in mind this was in an elective class that has nothing to do with his area, and he wasn’t in the room let alone in the building. Not only is it insulting implying that I didn’t do my own work (I’m actually the talent scholar so of course I have decent skills!) but I feel like I’m being judged for his behaviour.
He’s kind of… the “cute” teacher on campus. He’s one of the few male staff who aren’t gay I guess and he’s on the younger side. He’s only been at the school for a year and he doesn’t seem like the type to go after students. I don’t see him act like this with other people. I wonder if they have a reason to suspect him already or if the rumour is just going around about me (I stick out at the school for other reasons and maybe that’s just also adding fuel to the rumour). Idk tbh.

Ive been feeling so lonely lately and I hate it. Im about to finish my second year of college and it feels like I have nobody. I had a really great first year but my grades were not the best. I was out partying, hanging out with friends, staying up late. I was never at the dorm, had people constantly hitting me up. Its a small school and everyone knew me. I was kinda popular. I decided to take my grades more seriously and now I just feel so alone. I don’t go out much, I barely see my friends, nobody checks up on me. Ive just been studying since my classes were hard this year. Last year was a breeze. Whenever I do have the chance to be social, everyone talks about their weekend plans, getting invited to things, going to formals. I dont really get invited to anything anymore. Its like my social life was reset. I hate it. None of my friends can relate to me cause they barely get any homework and their classes are easy. Im the only CS Major in my group. Im so jealous that they have a lot more time than me to actually have a good social life. I usually have time in the weekends but I am usually exhausted from hw by the time and dont have the energy to make new friends. Im honestly just ranting rn, i thought this would be the best subreddit cause yall are CS majors. Idk if any of yall have had a similar experience.

The title sounds horrible but bare with me… I like to make my plans in advance because my schedule is always revolved around my family’s needs so any spare moment I have for myself, I take it - whether it’s me spending time with my BF and/or friends or putting my feet up to relax and tune out the world. I made plans two days ago to go see my BF tonight as it is my Friday and I want to see him. Mom knew about this and it worked perfect as we are having a family dinner for my cousin’s 16th birthday tomorrow night at the house. Well…mom just dropped the bomb on me around 12 PM that my cousin also wants the family to go out to dinner tonight at 6 and that I need to cancel my plans to go to this dinner. Not even an 8 hour notice. I told my mom that I respectfully decline the invitation. When she asked why, I told her, “Well, first of all, I’ve already made plans in advance and this is DEFINITELY not the first time I’ve had to cancel plans for a last minute family event (literally). Second of all, I’m paying for everything tomorrow for the dinner that was originally planned - the cake, the balloons, the dinner, the flowers, everything. So I don’t really feel like paying for a tab on top of all that. Those reasons alone, I don’t feel like going. Not to mention all the years I worked overnight and if I told you guys I was staying home because I had to work that night, I would get my phone blown up by everybody asking where I’m at so opting out was never an option for me. But if someone else doesn’t want to or they have to work that night or overnight, it’s completely fine and truth be told, I’m sick of the double standard.” Mom said I’m being inconsiderate and unfair as this is my cousin’s 16th birthday. I said to mom that I didn’t care and my life shouldn’t be consistently altered due to last minute notices especially if she knew I was going to celebrate her birthday anyways (the original plan for dinner at the house) and pay for it all. The whole double standard of this really has me heated and my friends understand why. But my mom and brother think I’m being ridiculous. My BF is fine with seeing me a different night as he doesn’t know what time he’ll be off today and he understands but deep down, I’m not okay with it just for the double standard. AITA? Am I being petty and ridiculous?

Today I am going to a dinner party my friend invited me to. I'm freaking out. It's the first time in months I've let anyone cook for me. Plus what if people watch me eat and judge me? I'm very anxious. Plus I'm an introvert and there will be like 10 people which is a LOT. I wanted to go for a walk today because that is my coping mechanism but I had a million things to do and couldn't.

Some background: I am 31 years old, trans, queer and an immigrant from South America. My family has always been in shambles: I have a mom, an older brother (who I don’t speak to) and an uncle. My extended family has no news of me since I transitioned.
For my entire life I went unheard by both parents and my feelings were always made to feel invalid. My mom would enable my father and tell me to avoid doing anything to make him angry, in addition to abusing me herself from getting abused by him to. I majored in Psychology in college but never went to get a Masters (I hope to change that in the next 2 years).
I am almost 100% positive my dad is narcissistic: always wanted to control others around him, would lash out at the most insignificant things, sometimes would burst into my room looking to pick a fight and excessively punished both me and my brother if we so much as rolled our eyes at him. I remember my dad scared me so much as a 15 year old kid that I was left shaking and peeing my pants in my own room after one of his outbursts and my older brother was threatened to be fed poop.
My mom recently finalized a divorce with my dad, now having put up with his crap until both of us were grown that she escaped to our home country away from him. My dad and her offered to let me have their home (which they own) as they are moving back to the home country to retire and live off their savings. This sounded great to me at the time since living alone in NYC was expensive and I can save on rent.
Looking back on it now, this was a huge mistake leaving my rent stabilized apartment. Given that my dad still has so much stuff left in this home that they need to bring back to Bolivia in several trips, that meant he would be returning every year and stay for several months to pay his taxes and pack his stuff.
I didn’t mind it at first but lately he’s been:

1. Asking me to go out to dinner with him every weekend, despite me saying I don’t want to eat out often because I’m trying to hit my goals in the gym and would say things like “I don’t know what you’ll do when your father and mother are not here anymore”.
   
2. Offering me junk food every day and gets personally offended regardless if I say “no thank you” in a polite manner.
   
3. Would point out I have something on my face and try to use a napkin to wipe it for me (hello boundaries?!)
   
4. Go through my mail from a bank asking when the CD matured so he can add more money to my account.
   
5. Asked me to reach out to my older brother to make amends and invite him over so him and I can bury the hatchet (despite me not really caring to because he sexually abused me and my dad and him need to not involve me as the middleman). My brother never responded to my text and my dad kept asking if he did.
   

It all came to a head earlier today when my dad came into the room and then asked me if I wanted to go out for French toast at a restaurant and I said “not right now”. He left for a while before coming back to the bedroom (mind you, my door is closed and he never knocks) several times in quick succession to say the following:

1. “I forgot to tell you we aren’t going out to dinner anymore. So you can cook yourself dinner, we aren’t going out anymore since you want to be like no thank you . You and your brother are ungrateful”
   
2. “I try to be nice to you and your brother, putting you all in my will as beneficiaries but y’all are just awful ungrateful kids.”
   
3. “I’m also not going to pay my half of the rent from now on. Since you want to be a big man now, you can pay for your Master’s degree yourself, pay the entire rent even when I’m here and pay for everything. I’m not helping anymore, I’ll keep the money for myself and even throw it away than given it to you.”
   
4. “Since you like to be told things, I’m telling you now that I’ll be coming in and out of this house when I please because this house is MINE.”
   

I dealt with my dad for the longest time, even felt bad for him when he broke down to cry a few days earlier about how he wants me and my brother to have each other after he and my mom are gone because our family is in shambles from his shit. But for him to say all these things and expect me to continue to pay for the maintenance of this co-op and take the abuse, absolutely not.
This is the final straw and I’m going to have to find another place to stay which will be hard given that I live in NYC and I highly prefer to live alone. I wish I didn’t leave my 1BR situation that I paid 1.5K a month for this…
Anyways writing this out made me feel better but any advice or moral support you can give me would be very appreciated.

1: The blue doors 2: Salmon cornet amuse 3: Oysters and pearls - the iconic oyster sabayon with caviar 4: Artichaut a la barigoule with burnt Meyer lemon vinaigrette 5: Foie gras pastrami with roasted beets and Pinot sorrel 6: Trout tatami with Persian cucumber and hearts of palm 7: Mane lobster etoufee with polenta and Swiss chard 8: Poussin (young chicken) with crispy ris de veau and wild ramps 9: Elysian Fields farm lamb saddle with sweet carrot gnocchi 10: Miyazaki A5 Wagyu with morels and sauce bordelaise 10a: Gougere with Comte and black winter truffle (forgot to take a picture of this one but incredible) 11: Yorkshire foraged rhubarb with Greek yogurt panna cotta 12: Mint chocolate chip, cappuccino semifredo, doughnut holes 13: Chocolate truffles
I know I will probably invite controversy in this sub by posting a negative review of Atomix and then an extremely positive one of Per se, but here we are. I haven’t been here in nearly a decade and went several times in the early 2010s when it was at the height of the NYC dining pyramid - and I adored it then. Seeing the reviews here and elsewhere that were decidedly mediocre if not negative gave me pause, but I wanted to go back since it had been so long.
Perhaps I went on a particularly good weekend night, or maybe (I hope) the rumors of its death are greatly exaggerated. Whatever the case may be, I walked into a restaurant that seemed to absolutely be firing on all cylinders.
Starting with the food - the salmon amuse and oysters and pearls of course are the long-time classics that, when eating, felt like a warm welcome back to the TKRG. They were the same (read: perfect) as I remember at TFL and Per se visits past. Plating for the artichoke salad was a little underwhelming but it was made up for by a delicious Meyer lemon vinaigrette. I was in a big group so a couple people were able to get the foie pastrami which was also excellent. If there was a weak dish on the menu it was the trout tataki. Technically good but maybe a touch one-dimensional with not enough citrus in the ravigote. Butter poached Maine lobster with polenta was another riff on a Keller classic and delicious. The meat courses continued to be delicious, although the A5 wagyu was the standout with morels and a sauce bordelaise that was one of the most intense flavors I can remember in a while. Totally worth the supplement. Desserts were as good as always including the chocolate truffle box at the end.
The service was flawless (as it should be in a restaurant of this caliber). Beyond flawless, it was warm, attentive without being overbearing, and with everyone there seemingly happy to be there and give the guests a great experience. Our somm was wonderful, taking me away from my usual burgundy and champagne habits and helping match more offbeat wines to the food including a Chardonnay from the Jura, Mosel Riesling (ok not that offbeat, but I basically drink 0 Riesling at baseline so offbeat for me) and a Lillian Gold Series Syrah from Maggie Harrison. These were really some great value wines on the list and I never felt like I was being upsold. Finally, the pacing of the meal was perfect. It can be hard to make a 4+ hours, 10+ course tasting menu dinner not drag on at some point, but they timed the courses perfectly and kept us excited for the whole meal.
Again, I realize Per se has become deeply uncool in the world of NYC fine dining. Is it new, experimental, or does it really stretch the definition of fine dining in some new and unique direction? No. But there are nights when I want to slip into an ultra-comfortable banquette, watch night descend on Central Park, drink utterly delicious benchmark wines, and eat food in the finest tradition of Franco-American luxury. For that, I would be hard pressed to find a better place than Per se.

I (23F) met my ex boyfriend in summer 2022. I was an ATC student and we had to take flying lessons for several weeks. So me and several friends from my class went and we all lived together. We had separate bedrooms but we would share a living room and a kitchen. With us there was a group of student pilots. All boys. I should have seen the red flag. When we arrived, since it was summer, my friends (we were mostly girls) and I all went to the swimming pool. Obviously we caught the eye of the student pilots because they were just boys in the center up until now. I spare you the details of how we got together but I ended up dating a student pilot : let’s name him Victor. One of my best friends (Mary) who was with me also started dating a pilot (Matthew). At first it was all sun and rainbows. The flying lessons ended for us and we went back to our regular school. But the student pilots had to take more lessons and they went to another center. There, they met girls from another class. I didn’t think much of it at the time because I was in love. When the boys finished their flying lessons they came back to school and we were together a lot. My friend Mary started to grow suspicious of a girl with who her boyfriend was chatting a lot that he met on the second flying center(Veronica). He told her she was just a friend and my Mary trusted him. A few months after, the boys had a very big party and they did not invited us because it was on a weekend and we had to work for an upcoming test (at least that was the excuse). My ex boyfriend then told me “just so you know we will sleep at Veronica’s house because she has a house there. But you can’t tell Mary or else she will get mad”. I was baffled that he would say such a thing knowing how close I was with Mary and how that would pain me. But I kept my mouth shut, out of love. When they came back on Monday, Matthew told Mary that he kissed Veronica at the party. She was distraught and didn’t know what to do. On that evening, we were supposed to have a couples dinner, Marie Matthew Victor me and two other friends. Matthew obliviously didn’t came. But Victor did come with me and I felt bad all evening because I was juggling between Victor and Mary. On one hand I felt so bad for what had happened to Mary but on the other I felt that it would make Victor uncomfortable if I spoke too badly of his friend. On the way home, I lashed out and said to Victor that his friend was and ass*ole for what he did. He agreed with me. Then all week, he became quite distant. I didn’t think much of it because we were both quite busy at school. But then we went to the restaurant and the movies on Friday night with friends. And in person he was just … cold. He refused my hugs, didn’t hold my hand ect. So I started to worry, wondering what I done wrong. It must have been my fault. We went back to my appartement and on the way back I ask him what’s the matter. He keeps answering me « nothing, everything is fine ». But nothing feels fine. When we arrive and I keep pushing him to tell me what’s wrong. He tells me « nothing, I know it will upset you and you have big exams next week, I will tell you after ». That did not stop me. On the contrary, I just wanted to know all the more. So finale he says « at the party last weekend I kissed a girl but it means nothing. I don’t even like her ». I am so surprised because I trusted him so much. Of course I cry a lot. We sleep in different beds and I spend the whole night thinking, wondering what I done wrong. On the next morning we speak and I ask him what does he wants to do. He tells me he doesn’t know. He needs time to think. The whole day is awful. And on Monday I go to class. I tell Marie everything. I take my exams. I think. A lot. On Wednesday, when I am done with exams Victor comes to my apartment to talk. Actually I see him arrive with all the stuff I left at his place. He tells me he thought about it a lot, but he doesn’t want to be with me anymore. I beg him to stay, saying I will forgive him, that I love him. He says « I know myself, if we stay together I will do it again. So it’s better if we split up ». After that I cried a lot and went back to my family for Christmas Holidays. The cherry on top was that I gave him his Christmas presents because I didn’t want to find it when I came back. He obviously hadn’t buy me a gift (even thought Christmas was in like 4 days). Looking back at it I think he already knew he would break up with me so he didn’t need to buy me a present. I passed my exams with very good grades. Because turns out I can compartmentalize. Now, to how my life became a telenovela. Because every time I think this story is over, I learn something new. And since Mary likes gossip as much as I do and the girls they kissed have the same job than us, we would learn so much. So, Matthew and Veronica started dating. Just for context, Veronica also had a boyfriend at that time so she cheated on him (Gabriel) with Matthew. Victor and the girl he kissed (Karina) also start dating. Turns out this girl is 10 years older than him and was engaged to her boyfriend of ten years and was planning to join him were he lived after she finished her studies. She threw all of that away to date Victor. Since they all go to the same school as us we see them a lot. Marie and I start our first job thinking we are finally rid of them. We move to another city. And then we go to a Halloween party with friends. Victor is here with his friend and I am dressed as pugsley from the Addams family. What were the odds ? Turns out the odds were quite high since our friend forgot to mention that it was a party created by airlines companies. Of course one of Victor’s friends tells Mary that we came on purpose because we are so in love with them. Then we learn that Matthew almost never goes out anymore because his new girlfriend Veronica keeps him on a leash. A few month go by and nearly nothing happens. Marie and I are happy because Veronica and Karina have jobs in another city than us. And then, the holy graal. We learn that while Karina was away to visit something for school, Victor went to a dinner with a girl he had a crush on when he was younger. He went on a date while he already had his girlfriend Karina. And he told her. They still are together and are looking for a house together as I write this. As for Veronica and Matthew. She is becoming quite close with a boy that works at the same place as her. So who would you bet to be the first to be cheated on ? Or the first to cheat ? As for my revenge, I did a small petty thing : I had Victor netflix passwords so I created him the worst to watch film list : Everything but a man, Unforgivable, Little man, Megamind, Diary of a boy toy… This is almost nothing but it stills brings a smile on my face. The real revenge is that I can watch this shit show from far away with Mary while eating popcorn. I learn all the crusty details and realize what kind of bullet I dodged. Oh, and as pilots, Matthew and Victor will take orders from us their whole career.

We have been having arguments frequently lately. We both work very long hours and trying to make ends meet. My wife is pregnant too, it wasn’t planned but we both got happy with the news. We have planned having children in the future anyway so what are 2 years give or take. But biologically it must have freaked me out anyway because I have been having problems getting it up. For two months now I have been avoiding sex.
Wife started mentioning lightly at first that she wanted me but now she was complaining about it saying that with all the stress around us and there’s no relief. We started one of the biggest fights. I didn’t tell her I was freaking out about the baby because I didn’t want to hurt her but I didn’t feel she was understanding of my embarrassment and told her that she was a nag and that I never had this problem before her. She paused and said what do you mean? I said well I never had this problem with Gina (fake name; my ex). She was shocked then she started laughing and left the kitchen shaking her head. That day she threw my pillow and cover on the sofa. Next day I waited for her to get out of the bedroom and I started apologizing and told her I didn’t mean to hurt her. She calmly said don’t worry, I don’t get hurt by an impotent loser and she laughed again.
Now she doesn’t look at me let alone talk to me. She just has this smile on her face that I can’t decipher. She comes from work and locks herself in the bedroom. No hi no good bye no i love you no texts. She used to shower me with I love you throughout the day. And kisses and cuddles. I miss her soft skin and smell. She also used to bake me my favorite cookies when I work overtime so I get something to cheer me up at night when I get home. The cookie jar is empty.
This has been going on for 3 weeks. Yesterday we were invited for dinner with her parents and she acted very normal and excited about the baby. Everyone told her that she was glowing and beautiful and I could swear she looked at me for less than a second before looking away smiling. When we got home I asked her to stay in the living room for a second to talk to me. I apologized and told her that I wanted her and I thought that she’s beautiful and hot and I tried to kiss her. I tried to make her notice that I was aroused she just got up and said you can go fuck yourself or Gina, but not me. Today she didn’t even leave the room besides for food and the gym and walking the dog.
I don’t feel I am an ah. She hurt me first and she wasn’t sensitive about my issue. I know we are both very stressed out but she should have known whats stress does sometimes. But she doesn’t even acknowledge that I exist anymore.