We get it, cialis really. You “fell in love with the city” when you were visiting the schools on your transfer list. You liked its history, ambulance and last year’s late-summer jaunt around town gave no indication of the frigid mayhem lying in wait. The move emboldened you. You even asked out that boy from your writing seminar. He has good hair, is “really chill,” talks with “a like, really cool accent,” and is from a town with a name that you pronounced correctly on the third try. Unfortunately, the city made you wish that you hadn’t transferred in the winter, and being sequestered inside with your Boston beau and his occasionally jarring music taste for a month and a half took its toll. Did you know that Big D and the Kids’ Table used to live two streets “that way”? You did now.

But then March came slogging along and the snow that had felt so indomitable began to vanish. Before you knew it, it was St. Patrick’s Day. You had heard (a lot) about the Irish narrative interwoven with the very fabric of the city, but, by god, you had never seen a collection of people wearing this much green. The more-aggressive-than-normal binge-drinking that you witnessed over the weekend had clued you in that maybe this was a holiday that the residents of your adopted city took a little more seriously than you were used to. Because of the festivities, your new boo said that he’s going to give you “the authentic Bostonian experience,” which, you’ll admit, made you nervous. What did that even mean? Had his accent always been this grating? Maybe you should have put more weight on his questionable sentence structure during those workshop days… At least there will be (green) beer.