If you had told me in middle school, back when my ideas about love were mostly informed by the movie Casper ("No, Devon Sawa‘s beautiful cartoon ghost, can I keep YOU?" -- me, then) that at age 25 I would be alone, recapping The Bachelor on Valentine‘s Day, surrounded by a metaphorical army of cats and drinking a non-metaphorical bottle of wine, I would be like, "Nu huh! I‘m gonna be married to Devon Sawa, and on Valentine‘s Day he‘ll take me out to a fancy dinner at the top of the Eiffel tower, where he will have arranged for our seven children to put on a musical revue for our amusement. Also, I will be a famous painter and writer and also a secret princess." (Big, achievable dreams.)
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