Spending the night at a friends place = goodness. Spending the night over with a friend who is also a sometime professional masseuse = extra good. Spending the night over with a friend who was recently in a play about peadophelia and can quote it knowing that you’ll get the damned creepy references = bloody wonderful.
Suddenly exploding into laughter is a good way to wake up.
Honest.
“hey hey hey-a now now now sing this corrosion to me”
I got in to find out that I’d left the ferret out unattended overnight. I have a new carpet of clothes. The floor and bed are covered in jewel-toned purples and greens and blacks. I also left a drawer open.
To hell with it. I’m singing. Alistair may be on the Jhayne version of suicide watch, but there will always be some that are safe, sane, and a-ok. *waves to A.* (I know you read this. Sorry.) I assume that people can take care of themselves and lately I’ve been wrong. Fine. I should stop being so concerned. Dominique – you want to make a documentary? Go ahead. I’m off the hook already by deciding this.
“hey hey hey-a now now now sing this corrosion to me”
You know what the problem is? You need a boyfriend.
I have a boyfriend.
No you don’t.
You’ve met him.
Yes, but this doesn’t address the difficulty. There’s two, no, three points.
One: you should be crushed. He’s not around and so you should be making us sick of hearing about it. You should be crying yourself to sleep on us every damned day.
I’m not fifteen.
Doesn’t matter. It’s the form of it that counts.
Two: you should be over in the other province or
Three: He should be here.
As none of these apply, you are single until spoken for. Now I am willing to be the gallant and take you on myself. For the small price of $14.50 a month I will pose as your boyfriend.
*explodes into laughter*
No – really. We’d make a terrifically cute couple.