A Burrito Built for Two

Three hours and fifteen minutes into the Megabus ride, and spirits are flagging. I made the comment that "the word Kaela is almost exactly the same as the word koala," but it didn't take us the places I'd hoped it would. As soon as I said it Nicole pulled a burrito out of her satchel, as if to change the subject. When she began munching, a glob or two of sour cream fell onto my cardigan. "Oopsies," she said, as if her spillage was cute; in fact, it was infuriating.

By this point the blops of sour cream have melted, and that area of my cardigan looks rather like a dalmatian in reverse. Nicole and I have not spoken in minutes; we are clearly no longer "in cahoots." Instead, I'm flipping through Swamplandia! (a winning, propulsively jokey novel recommended to me by this bitch) and Nicole is looking mournfully out the bus window. "It's snowing in Providence," she says. "This was a mistake."

Will there be warm arms welcoming us when we arrive? And, more importantly, will there be pizza?