I am a huge proponent of onesies. I own about a dozen of them and I’m always looking for more. For the better part of my freshman year of school, I searched thrift shops high and low for the right onesie, and on my 19th birthday, at a thrift shop called Unique on the outskirts of Cleveland, I found this gem.
I was driven there by Sam*, the boy I spent the better part of my sophomore year obsessing over (at the time I called it “love”). I remember he convinced me to cut class to go to Unique and get sushi. “It’s your birthday, we have to do something!” he said to me.
I always knew Sam and I couldn’t be together for too many reasons to list here, but I remember how ecstatic I felt, spending my birthday one-on-one with him, like we had our own special bond.
On our drive back to campus, the freeway was empty and pitch black. “Wanna see how fast this car can go?” Sam asked.
My recently 19 self: “Sure!” Speeding down the freeway, dangerously, at 120mph, felt exhilarating.