THE ETHICS OF BREAKUP
I have only ever had one friend as crazy as I am. Once we painted a giant fireplace onto the wall of her apartment as decoration for a dinner party we were hosting — and then, at the end of the party, she led our guests up the stairs onto the roof of the build-ing, bringing with her a boombox playing Strauss. I climbed up the fire escape in a ballgown. I held out my hand. We waltzed with speed and gusto. Our friends and professors looked on, terrified: there was no railing. Another time she planned a scavenger hunt through San Francisco, and I found myself in a store selling sex toys, forced to examine each device meticulously to find the next clue. The finale of the scavenger hunt was at a disco, and she danced with me there, too, even though I had to cover my ears — I am very sensitive to sound — and there is nothing in the world dorkier than someone dancing with her hands over her ears.