Not a modern bride.
Months back, before the economy crumbled, Sam and I were discussing, via gmail-chat, employment possibilities because I was thinking of leaving my job. Sam suggested I look into Conde Nast and meant to reference Modern Bride, the blue-ribbon steed in Mrs. Nast's publication stable. A typo occurred. An idea was born. Below, a transcript of our dialogue.
Sam: Conde Nast needs feature editors, associate editors, and managing editors.
Nina: Really?
Sam: Yeah. It never tells you what magazine it is though. Next thing you know, you'll be an editor at the New Yorker instead of Modern Bridge.
Nina: I love Modern Bridge.
Sam: Me too. Me too.
Nina: Do you think Mrs. Nast keeps it secret what jobs are for what because they'd be inundated with apps for the New Yorker and stuff?
Sam: Or all the bridge-enthusiasts applying to Modern Bridge.
Nina: I thought that went without saying.
Modern Bridge. It's not about brides. It's not about bridges.
Not a modern bridge.
