I’m the bride whose future MIL paid her friend a thousand dollars to secretly butcher my hair two weeks before my wedding. She needed to learn a lesson about respecting others.
I’m 26, American, and I work as a waitress at a busy downtown restaurant. I like my job. My regulars know my name, the tips are decent, and I don’t have to pretend I care about quarterly projections.
One night he proposed in our tiny kitchen between the trash can and the stove.
My now-husband, Alex, is 28 and runs a small marketing firm. We met when he came in with coworkers for happy hour. He left his number on the receipt with: “If you ever want to go somewhere you’re not required to smile, text me.”