I’m tired of texting. Especially after typing all week at work. I’d like to, you know, talk. But I understand that some of my friends—friends like Amye who don’t read this blog and therefore will be oblivious to the fact that I am unabashedly writing about them oh God it feels so good to be free of polite constraints yes! yes! yes!—prefer texting, so I do my best to accommodate.
(Although I will not text you back if I call you first and instead of answering, you text me “what’s up?” Pick up your damn phone, that’s what’s up.)
Ah, modern technology.
Yesterday, after I wrote about Chuck’s “no pants Friday,” I texted the abridged version to Amye. Amye is getting married in two months and is having her bridal shower next weekend. I was at the mall with Junior shopping for her gift when she texted me back: “Chuck needs 2 get a job.”
Great, Larry’s back. With breasts.
I put down my phone to peruse Amye’s registry and was delighted to see that like many soon-to-be newlyweds, she had registered for a bunch of overpriced, useless shit like Ralph Lauren Spa Organic bath towels, a Two-In-One Citrus Juicer and Bagel Biter. Come on people, you were able to squeeze limes by hand and cut a bagel with a knife before you got married—what makes you think you won’t be able to after you say “I do”?
Oh right, you’ll be too busy bickering about who didn’t fold the laundry to squeeze that lime the old fashioned way. Of course.
I refrained from writing something snarky and texted the obligatory “LOL” and “Chuck needs 2 put his pants on.” To which she responded: “Would be happy if my man didn’t have pants on but am not married w/kid yet.”
Oh Amye, you sly little fox. I’ve decided that instead of buying you your precious citrus pulverizer and bagel guillotine I am giving you my vagina. Apparently I don’t need it anymore and heck, with the hours you’ll save prepping in the kitchen you could probably use another one.
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