A Sabrina

Some days you just need a Sabrina.

You know, an opportunity to fly off to Paris to escape your current life. A chance to write nonsense in a journal by a European river for three months.

Because when you come back from your Sabrina, your hair looks like this,

and you can crack an egg with one hand.

When you come back from your Sabrina, the male suitors are pursuing you:

driving you around in their cars,


or calling you on the phone,


or dancing with you at fancy dinner parties,

or taking you on boat rides for two.


When you come back from a Sabrina, you no longer think sad thoughts


like that one.

But...


Today, I needed a Sabrina.