Welcome to my lil corner of the interweb; The Rogo Report by me, Shay Rogo.
I want to dive in a$$-first and tell the tale of how an apple murdered the hopeless romantic in me, who I will refer to in this 3-part piece as ❤Shay❤
how an apple murdered❤Shay❤
specifically a honey crisp.
The cast and crew of my life’s romantic production have all played a role in the death of ❤Shay❤ , but it was an apple that ultimately put her to rest.
Before I explain the details of ❤Shay❤’s tragic demise, let me tell you who she was:
❤Shay❤ received a 2:00am “wyd?” text and proceeded to romanticize how hilariously heartwarming it would be if, one day, the origin of her and her husband’s relationship was derived from just three letters.
❤Shay❤ crossed paths with the same man for over two years, and pondered after each passing if the universe was playing cupid. Thus signifying that in over 730 days, the abstract universe was putting in more effort than the actual man himself.
❤Shay❤ was abruptly stopped by a man who asked for her number on second avenue. After a mere 10-minute conversation, she couldn’t help but think how perfectly nauseating it would be to say, “who would’ve thought second ave would lead to my first love?” while raising a toast at the wedding.
However, the Hallmark movies didn’t make her heart flutter (in fact, they made her eyes roll.) But after she watched films like Friends With Benefits in 2011, she longed for the love story where the two love strings started as a complicated knot and one day became the perfect bow. Ya know, the kind of bullshit story that makes people’s eyes widen or jaw drop when listening to it.
To think, a wee apple, put this soul to eternal rest…
We’ll start at a the scene of the crime.
part 1: the scene of the crime
❤Shay❤ was strutting down second avenue in a skirt that still had the tag tucked in the back (in case she wanted to return it.)
Woozy off 4+ glasses of wine and in desperate/dire need of pizza, it was incredibly impressive someone was able to harness her attention. Especially considering she was just across the street from her greasy night cap.
But alas, once her eyes locked with the defined jawline, her arm uncontrollably extended to shake the hand of a New York City stranger. A witness sent in photographic evidence:
The two exchanged numbers and parted ways. Hours later that evening, she received the following text from the street-side suitor:
❤Shay❤ found the text to be a bit too bold for her taste at the moment (a taste that only cared for melted cheese slathered on bread.) She also was extremely perplexed by the statement, “I’m feeling very strong rn (just ate some high quality protein) haha.”
Since she couldn’t decode what the actual fuck that meant, she didn’t answer. And even though she was a hopeless romantic, her crippling fear of death and history as a woman made her wonder, strong enough to…murder me?
Little did she know, that exact curiosity would come to fruition.
part 2: the two accomplices
The following evening, ❤Shay❤ was out to dinner, catching up with two of her life-long friends. Naturally, the “how’s your love life?” question bubbled up. The two were in long-term relationships so the conversation started with their stable updates.
When it was time for the *exciting* single-life portion of the convo, ❤Shay❤ told them about the street-side suitor from the other night. The two gushed over the story.
“whhatttttttt! He just randomly stopped you? Wait…that’s so movie-esque”
“You have a picture?! Oh wow...he looks really cute. Uh, that jawline?!”
“You didn’t respond to his text?! Why?”
Their reactions were so intoxicating to ❤Shay❤ that she decided to leave out the whole murder thought entirely. Not to mention, these friends were at a point in their romantic careers where the two wanted to do nothing more than encourage singletons, such as ❤Shay❤, to root for hopeless romantic love. Common recommendations from those in this emotional state include:
“you just gotta put yourself out there.”
“you have nothing to lose!”
“Alright, don’t lose hope yet, give it one more shot.”
Simply put, ❤Shay❤ was doomed under their innocent and hopeful influence.
And just as she was about to cave in and reply to this random man’s text almost 20 hours later - he beat her to it and sent a double text.
But it wasn’t a text.
It was an audio message.
part 3: the death of ❤Shay❤
Next thing ❤Shay❤ knew, she and this character (by the name of Luis) were communicating walkie-talkie style across Central Park. There was something romantic in the decision to send audio messages instead of text messages in 2020. They were like Romeo and Juliet, but if Romeo and Juliet had iPhones. And if Juliet was impressed by the bare minimum.
Her two friends giggled with excitement as ❤Shay❤ sent back witty replies in-between drinks. And attractively enough, Luis could hold his own against her sassy messages. To justify the interaction even more, all the women listening were impressed with his very-normal-man-sounding replies.
When he asked to meet for a drink that very night, her friends cheered after sweet, innocent, bébé ❤Shay❤ sent the audio message, “ah sure, meet me at The Penny Farthing in like an hour.”
In her defense, Luis was a dangerous combination of a human for someone like ❤Shay❤ . This was someone who was 1.) bold enough to send an audio message to a complete stranger and 2.) had the quick-witted skill to tackle any sarcastic comment thrown his way. Someone to this caliber was extremely interesting for a hopeless romantic with a wall up. His bold efforts were interpreted as signs of someone who who was smitten. Someone who would long to penetrate the wall.
But it ‘twas not the wall he was interested in. And ❤Shay❤ quickly found that out, over a plate of untouched nachos, as he described the porn ring he was coordinating online.
The downward spiral began when ❤Shay❤ asked if he usually picks up random girls from the street. She asked this wanting to hear some sort of fairy tale reply. But with a swift first stab to her gut, he said,
“yes, I actually do. And then, I take them home. And then, I fuck their brains out.”
She was confused. In that moment she noticed one of his pupils was everrrrr so slightly off center. The murder line of thought re-entered her brain as she glanced at the backpack he brought with him.
“you…you fuck their brains out?”
He leaned in reallllllll close after she asked this. He put his elbows on the table. He placed his head in his folded fingers. And he repeated, “I fuck their brains out.”
To this she thought -
She could sense the street-side suitor (murder?) was getting frustrated with her lack of sexual tension/reciprocation. But he had a hail mary play for a situation like this.
He had a honey crisp apple.
He leaned in realllllll close again. And, as her hopeless romantic heart took it’s final beats, he said the following to the hemorrhaging ❤Shay❤:
“Okay, listen, hear me out. So my roommate went apple picking a few days ago. He picked the most delicious apples. See my bag over here? Well, turns out my dear roommate let me have a few apples. Honey crisp apples. I have a beautiful one in my bag. I have it in my bag right now. Seriously, right now. So hear me out, okay? How about you and I go back to your place. We go inside. We go into your kitchen. We take out the sharpest, most beautiful knife you own. Then, I take out the apple and together, we cut it right in half. Maybe your roommate is home though? That’s okay. We’ll cut her a slice. Not a problem. Anyways, after we cut the apple we eat it, together.”
“what…what happens after we eat the apple?” (note: these are her last dying words)
“we fuck.”
Romance In Peace, ❤Shay❤
Behind the scenes of this post’s curation:
Time: 7:45pm, EST
Location: my childhood bedroom, sitting in front of a gallery of photos of me posing with girls who I haven’t spoken to in at least 5 years
Mood: Two coffees in, feelin’ a caff high
Aesthetic: only one nail painted