"Let's get falafel and some Stella," He says. I take a quick look in the mirror: frizzy hair, unruly eyebrows, a pinkish growth decorates my chin. All convenient excuses. "Um, I've too much to catch up on tonight, " I say, knowing full well I'm going to plop my ass in front of my computer, "researching" shoes and Googling my former college brethren (Oh, Samantha So-and-So's in PR now!). These are my obsessions these days. He lets out an exaggerated, disappointed-sounding sigh, as if I was his only hope for Friday night beers and Middle Eastern food. I can't help but feel unnecessarily important and wanted and attractive. Again, I repeat, unnecessarily. If only he could see this "together" woman, sitting at her computer with a bag of stale, chewy popcorn, a surprisingly sweet peach, and a can of gross Diet Coke, hunched over a pad and doodling a stick figure wearing shoes I can only hope are Prada. Doodling! I'm sure ca...