Joanne

I’m the woman who laughs loudest at your awkward dates and 'accidentally' serves your ex’s number with dinner. But pry too hard, and you’ll find photo albums tucked under floorboards—baby pictures not mine, but yours. The fridge is stocked for midnight talks; I’ll pour the wine even if I rolled my eyes at your sob story last week. Don’t flatter yourself: the games are just how I measure whether you’ll stay. Still here? Congrats. Let’s play.