Time travel is an excuse to relive Winslow’s most uncomfortable moments, even if they only happened a few months ago.

1. How many text messages were you able to send before you were seated?

1) we were led to a table at once: the restaurant has clearly lost its buzz
2) I spent my time on Twitter and Facebook
3) five—till the rest of my party showed up, with Margaret late as usual
4) none, because I bribed the hostess with a gift certificate to Masa
5) my iPhone battery died

Adulthood is that monster under your bed you were scared of as a kid, and your only defense was pulling the sheets up over your head, only now the “sheets” are–well, still sheets, as staying in bed all day is amazing and the threat of eviction isn’t that intimidating.

It’s time to go back in time, y’all.

This column isn’t about love, but boyfriends. Terrible boyfriends. The greatest, terrible boyfriends in (great?) literature.