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.
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:
He texts back:
In love with you too. Plutonically.