I finally broke down. At 2 a.m. one morning, I found myself crying in a bar because of Mr. G. He didn’t do anything—and that was the problem. Not to mention I felt incredibly alone after the speed dating and singles mixer debacle. So from one minute to the next I went from swaying to a song to sobbing in a bathroom stall. And then I did something I haven’t done since my days as a foolish and impulsive 20-something-year-old: drunk text.
Read the rest of The Hookup: Hanging By a Text.