Praying for beautiful

I lay in my bed and prayed: “God, please make me beautiful.” Of all the things I could have prayed for, this now strikes me as a sad choice. I was a skinny, bony, pale pre-adolescent. Puberty had already struck half of the girls in my class, while I still looked like a tiny beanpole,…

Here cometh the mojo master

He. Makes. Me. Feel. Fabulous. And he’s gay, so not in the way you might think. I’m talking about my old grad school buddy, Andrew. Everybody needs an Andrew. I’ve previously written about Patrick, my fairy godmother when I first moved to Chicago as a twenty-something.  Patrick took me from Ohio college grad to sophisticated…