I'D been checking the mail daily for my latest copy of Gourmand New York; I hadn't realized my roommate had had it sitting under her copy of the Sunday Times. "When did this come?" I feigned casual mention, while sipping on a cup of black coffee which I was none too pleased with. "A while ago." (Note to self: The next time mail comes for me can you please make sure that I get it?) I'd flipped through the issue quickly, as to make up for lost time—I still had New York and Vogue to read. By the time my free thumb had flipped to page twenty-eight, I'd held the sip of brown liquid in my mouth for a moment, before swallowing. "Around Town: New York City." Only a mere fraction of a second deigned pass before I was able to confirm that, yes, this was the very pitch which I had solicited to Ms. Jones in my most recent e-mail correspondence with her. As I examined the crude impostor, I pictured in my mind how much better my own version—'The Dishy Missy on The Street'—would have been. This clearly was put together by someone north of sixty-five or by some unseasoned twenty-something, coffee-fetching intern (or perhaps by a combination of both). Ms. Jones, you've gotten it all wrong, my dear.
Don't worry about them stealing your story ideas. I'd swallowed a now cold sip of coffee that had been sitting in my mouth. It is terrible form and nobody does it. I can't believe she just left my mail sitting under her paper all week. It's just not done. She doesn't even read the paper. Good luck!
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.