The Boyfriend Designer - Christopher Harlan Page 0,33
a month since VidCon New York, and I haven’t heard a peep from Conor Durden. It’s probably all for the better, I don’t think he would have been good for me. But everything else that weekend—meeting fans, getting to speak with some amazing women, and growing my following—all of that was an experience I’ll never forget.
Tori’s back from all her book traveling and we’re about to have breakfast at my place. She promised to bring crumb cake and coffee—and I take promises like that very seriously. In the meantime, I’m going through my latest Boyfriend Designer episode that I want to upload soon. That’s when I get a text from Tori mid-edit.
Tori: Almost there. The lady at Dunkin screwed up the order.
Me: Well your first mistake was going to Dunkin, but I don’t have time to teach you the correct protocol for coffee ordering, I’m editing.
Tori: I fixed it. All good.
Me: And my crumb cake? Don’t tell me that got messed up. I’ll have to cut a bitch down at the bakery.
Tori: No bitch cutting required, crumb cake is secured. Be there in ten.
Me: See you soon.
“Okay, you were right,” she says after showing up fifteen minutes later.
“That goes without saying, but whatever. Like, I need to have shirts printed. But what are you talking about specifically?”
“Coffee. You were one hundred percent right.”
“Oh, the Dunkin thing? I don’t know what you were thinking, Tor.”
“In hindsight it was a mistake. I tasted the fixed version of my cappuccino and it’s gross.”
“Oh, Tori, Tori, Tori. So many mistakes. You still need me to be your coffee Yoda, don’t you?
“My what?” she asks, smiling.
“We all need a Yoda. A wise creature that can train us in the ways of. . . whatever. I need to be your coffee Yoda, obviously.”
“Wait, does that make you a little strange green creature, then?”
“Don’t take the metaphor too far. I’m just wise.”
“Ah, I see. My mistake.”
“Yeah you’re making a whole bunch of those this morning, huh?”
“I have much to learn.” She jokes.
“But not at the bakery,” I say, grabbing the box from her. “Good job on that.” I put it down on my table and take a scissor to that stupid red and white string so that I can see my. . . coffee cake! “God, that smells good.”
“Geez, you’re like an animal.”
“Don’t deflect. Back to your issues.”
“I wouldn’t call ordering from Dunkin an issue, but. . .”
“It is. It’s like AA—you have to admit that you have a problem. I don’t have time for the full lecture, I have to get back to editing, but the quick version — don’t get coffee from Dunkin, and if you have to, definitely don’t order specialty drinks like a Cappuccino. End of lecture. Back to edits.”
I sit down with my crumb cake, terrible coffee, and best friend. You know a friendship is strong when both people who have as much going on as each of us do and we still find time to hang out. No matter what book events or podcast responsibilities Tori has, she’s always there for me, and I’m always there for her.
“What are you working on?” she asks, sipping her terrible Cappuccino and making a cringy face.
“Latest episode. I want to upload first thing tomorrow, I need to be done with it by lunch or so.”
“You ever think about writing a book?”
“Huh?”
“A book. Those things with pages and a spine. People read them.”
“Oooh,” I joke. “Books? Right. Do I want to write one? Hell no, that’s your thing.”
“It’s anyone’s thing,” she tells me. “And I don’t just roam around advising people I know to become authors, you know.”
“Of course not, that would be weird.”
“Seriously, you have great material to work with—it would make a bestseller, trust me. Like, what are you working on right now?”
I turn my laptop and show her. “I did my thing on Long Island. Wanna see?”
“Sure.”
I stop editing for a second and play her the video. It starts with me walking around and then I find some women by a busy train station to see if they want to answer a few questions. I turn up the volume.
“What’s up everyone, this is Shoshana, your favorite boyfriend designer. Today I’m here on Long Island. I decided to leave Manhattan for the day—and trust me it doesn’t happen often—to ask some Long Island ladies about their perfect boyfriend. Excuse me, miss?”
The woman stopped and looked at me like I was about to sell her something. I get that a lot.
“Yes?”
“I’m Shoshana. What’s your