The Digest: Two fools, one engagement

A life development and a reading list. April 15-May 19, 2025.

In her burned-in-my-brain special Get On Your Knees, Jacqueline Novak uses her teenage sex life to catapult into philosophic ponderings on the charade of presentation.

When a friend’s older sister’s friend, who names herself “The Blowjob Queen,” offers advice to the group, Novak recoils at her lack of self-awareness. Novak lives in a bifurcated state with conflicting generative and critical egos:

I fear that if I’m confident, I may turn into what I think of as The Two Fools. Okay, so if I like myself, might feel good. But what if I’m wrong about myself? What are me and myself? We’re just these two fools just congratulating each other. “Oh. Best in the biz.” “No one quite like us. We’re fantastic.” To me, it feels safe, you know, if I stand in the bathroom mirror, to look at that person in the mirror and insult the person in the mirror. Say, “You’re a fool.” That way, even if they are a fool, at least me, on this side of the mirror, I’m someone who can spot a fool. And then I am not, in myself, two fools. I’m a fool and someone who’s well aware. You know? I’m a fool and someone apologizing for them. And then my duo has 50% dignity. Do you see? If you split in two and hate yourself, you get a guarantee of 50% dignity, versus taking the gamble of zero versus 100. Do you see… do you see… do you see how… how the math of self-hatred is unimpeachable?

This interior restraint comes with righteousness. You can’t laugh at me if I have already laughed at myself. I would never be caught with my metaphorical pants down! Maybe you, but not me!

My first fool loves a surprise.

My second fool fancies herself a Sherlock who wants to predict the surprise to avoid being out of the conversation.

Case in point: I have an awful habit of announcing Luke’s presents to his face so he won’t be disappointed. Every Christmas and birthday, it backfires. He promises he likes whatever I get him, but then I have spoiled what would have been a happy reveal on the actual day I was supposed to give the gift.

The door swings both ways. I needle him to tell me what presents he’s given me, even though I would be miserable if I found out. He says, "Don't you think you would be upset if you found out?"

"You're right," I admit. "So, would you say it fits in an envelope? Or is it more of a box container present? OR is it invisible because it's an experience?"

So I was Second Fooling in the two weeks leading up to Luke's proposal.

I had already picked up the habit of asking whether or not I should get my nails done. I had been rocking bare nail beds. Worse, they were brittle, naked nails from the last manicure, where I pulled the nails off after three of the gel extensions popped off like press-ons. I didn't want to walk around like a partially declawed cat, so I subconsciously peeled the rest off. In public, no less. I forget which friend I subjected to my involuntary sadism, but I came home from some dinner or something thinking, "Oh, those nails are off my nails and in my front denim pocket now. Very cool."

Because our calendar from now until our move in July has filled with bachelor parties and birthday parties, I could sense a few suspiciously free weekends. If Luke wanted to propose in New York as an anchor on this place where we lived for six years, then the options were limited.

The first weekend available was May 3, 2025.

From that point forward, I was a dog with a bone.