Ten Little Missions

Friday night and the calendar’s empty. The apartment’s clean, your friends are unavailable, your phone’s been quiet all day. You start imagining the dumb missions that could pass the time.

There’s the Tinder nuclear option: print your profile and plaster it everywhere. Telephone poles, bathroom mirrors, the side of a bus if you’re bold enough. Shotgun your face at the whole city and see if anyone approaches you on the street saying they recognized the laminated version.

Yodel in the grocery store. Full commitment. There was that kid who made it viral in a Walmart; maybe you’ve got something in your voice too.

Sleep with three different people named Andrea. Track them. Compare. Become an expert on one first name.

Sprinkle cocoa powder into a joint. Chocolate smoke, theoretically. It probably doesn’t work but it’s worth an hour of thinking about it.

Invite your first girlfriend’s parents to dinner. Make small talk across the table about love, life, god, whatever. See if they’ve aged well. See if they still hold anything against you.

Liquidate every Bitcoin and give it to your little sister to fund the business idea she’s been pitching. Let her have her shot. Sit back and watch it fail.

Announce your birthday to strangers. Tell the barista, the UPS guy, random people on the street. Someone will probably give you money, food, or invite you to get high. It’s almost guaranteed.

Propose to people. Seriously. When someone says yes, marry them. Wake up Monday married to a near-stranger you met on Friday. It’s a weekend commitment device, a story, proof that something happened.

Ask all your exes for one specific thing: a plaster cast of their dick. Have them all made into personalized dildos. You’ll have a whole collection to compare. Science.

Or just buy a cat.