UB MFA grad student Melinda Cianos meditates on food and love — and confesses a very salty secret.
1985. He is eye candy, there is no doubt about that: tanned and Greek and serious. He is Friends School educated, an all-metro athlete, a Scorpio. He is 28 years old and I am 18.
He picks me up for our first date in a ’73 red, convertible Corvette. He doesn’t walk up to the door to get me or meet my parents, but instead honks the horn. My father is sitting in front of the television and shoots a deprecating look my way as I grab my purse; I seem to receive that look often, even when I am just making a sandwich, which is probably the reason I am looking for somewhere else to be.