The first rule of Reductress Satire Writing Workshop is…well, you can pay $45 (online) to $60 (meat space) and find out for yourself. But I broke it almost immediately in this piece I conceived during the January 23rd class, which was held in a hip and earnest Manhattan co-working space.
I broke character and went into the workshop cold, no Oh, this old lump of coal I just unearthed and pressurized into a diamond? pre-prep allowed. This resulting piece, which in its newborn form made a conference room full of delightful thirty-somethings chortle, combines a few of my favorite tropes and horrors.
It’s not perfect, but it makes me smile. A little too broadly. And it reminds me of why I turn into a white man blinking GIF when someone tells me the worst thing they could ever imagine is being single. Or, um, voluptuous. I save my irrational fears for denim fanny packs.