A proverbial phone conversation in a day in the life of my BFF and I: 

Rosco: Hey Googley 

Me: Hey Boobley. Whatcha doin’?

Rosco: I’m trying on shades at Fred Meyer. Niiice. I look like George Michael in these. He always wore aviators. 

Me: (Singing)

Well you gotta have faith a-faith a-faith.

You gotta have faith a-faith a-faith.

Rosco: what about you, Goo? 

Me: Vigorously rubbing baby powder into my scalp. It cuts the grease better than leave-in shampoo. 

Rosco: Why don’t you just shower like a normal person.

Me: I hate getting wet. You know that.

Rosco: What is baby powder made of anyway?

Me: Ground up umbilical cords. 

Rosco: Heh heh. You’re funny.

Me: Yeah, you orbit around my sensational wit.

Rosco: It’s true. The celestial body of Rosco’s life has an orbital trajectory around a much bigger celestial body called Beatrix’s humor. 

Rosco: Imagine language was just made up of adjectives. Try to make a coherent sentence. Go. 

Me: Twerking, jiggling, gyrating. Wait, that’s verbs. 

Rosco: weren’t you an English Major? 

Haha, I’ve been getting this annoying group text all day. I just sardonically “love-hearted” Jodi’s “love” that Molly “thumb’s up-ed” Karen’s text, “Sorry I won’t be able to make it.” 

Me: Haaaa. Group texts are the woooorst! You should follow it up with, “Well, the verdict is in. We all love that you can’t make it, Karen.” 

We hang up, I text:

#platonicallyinlovewithyou

He texts back:

#metoo 

#Imeanwithyou

In love with you too. Plutonically.

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