My flatmates and I have been rewatching Girls recently, and over the weekend we got to “One Man’s Trash,” the episode in Season 2 where Hannah spends the night at that sexy doctor’s brownstone. Hannah has been dumping trash from the coffee shop she works at into his bin, and after he notices she goes over to apologize. He’s hot, in a chiseled sort of way. His house is equally beautiful, with terracotta walls, bay windows, and midcentury furniture. He pours her some freshly squeezed lemonade and, for some reason, seemingly out of nowhere, they start kissing.
He persuades her to take a day off work and she stays there, being looked after. He cooks her steak, constantly tops up the puddle of red wine at the bottom of her glass, hands over a pile of fluffy towels before she gets in the shower. Throughout the episode, Hannah drifts through his house in one of his grey cashmere sweaters. She has sex with him on the ping pong table and she eats blueberry jam on toast on a picnic table in the garden while he reads the New York Times. When they’re in bed together, he cups her face in his hands and tells her she’s beautiful.
Watching it, I felt genuinely intoxicated, even more so than when I watched it the first time. I even turned the TV subtitles on, because my flatmates were making breakfast and discussing the previous night out and there was too much noise in the room for me to concentrate properly. I didn’t like that they were scrolling on their phones. I wanted them to take it all in like I was. At night I thought of the episode again: the art propped against the walls, the tiles in the hallway, underfloor heating and a hot water tap so you never have to boil a kettle, someone rubbing your feet and asking if a Thai green curry is okay for dinner tomorrow night.
I like the thought of that life for all the same reasons Hannah does in the show: Sometimes it gets really tiring being independent, and I want a generically hot man who definitely knows how to adjust boiler settings and has lots of snacks in his cupboard to sweep me off my feet and solve all my problems, because at the moment there’s way too many of them. Paying my tax bill was awful, so was paying last month’s heating bill. TikTok has convinced me there’s something wrong with my gut. There are things on my to-do list that have been there for years, like how I need to make a new Gumtree account because some dickhead gave me a one-star review and no one ever buys from me anymore. My mum keeps asking me questions I have no idea how to answer, like, “Have you started paying off your student loan?” and “How much money have you put in your Help to Buy ISA?” Most Mondays, I wake up too tired from the weekend to do any work. The mice are back in the flat again.
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