Can I ask you a rather blunt hypothetical question?” I can see you’re invested in this conversation. He’s not our waiter, but it’s clear that he’d still like to help us out with anything we want…and not just food and beverages.Īsh leans forward, maybe to get the waiter’s attention by hoisting up her boobs, or maybe she just wanted to rest them on the table.
We’re at eye level with his crotch and the evidence therein. That’s when me and my friends-my dear friends from college, my soul sisters-share a secret glance of amusement. He’s polishing the same few inches of the wood surface over and over again with a dirty gleam in his eye.Īlso, he’s wearing really tight hipster pants. I swallow another bite of my sandwich, and then I realize a bearded waiter is leaning over the adjacent table, mesmerized. “-stop wallowing and let’s find you someone to screw.” “What I’m saying is-” Ash holds up one finger to mark her place while she drains the rest of her beer. She’s my most anatomically correct friend. Usually, it’s penis, if she says anything at all. I sort of giggle-burp because I’m really emotional right now and this sandwich is so good, and Sadie, a therapist and a mom to newborn twin girls, isn’t one to use the word “dick”. “They know you got the dick,” Sadie finishes. “Yes! Sweaty, but that good kind of sex sweat, right? Like when you’re done and you’re starving and you go to the store for ice cream, people take one whiff of you and they know. “Biting,” Sadie adds as she steals one of my fries. I mean the growling, fumbling, grunting-” “…and I’m not talking that kind of ‘Oh you complete me’ bullshit and ‘Can I touch you here’ lovey shit. I take a bite of the sandwich, just so, you know, she’ll continue with this line of thought. It’s partly because my nose is filled with snot over my sorrow, and also because, goddamn it, she’s right. So after Ash says, “You need to be fucked,” I can’t breathe. That’s how bad things really are-I let that slice of salty ham heaven just sit there and get soggy and cold, like my love life. My Monologue of Despair was so all-consuming that I haven’t even taken a bite out of my crisp, gooey Cuban sandwich with garlicky mojo sauce.
A divorce I wanted, mind you, but the end of my marriage is devastating. The not-breathing is because I’m winded from giving Ash and Sadie a very long monologue about how desperate and alone I feel now that my divorce is final. Because Lists are Satisfying.Īshley says this to me, and I sorta can’t breathe. A Blur, A Bikini, And A Moment Of TruthĤ0. Brazilian Cheese Puffs Can Fix Everything Except Heartacheģ9. To Whom It May Concern, Those Are My Pantiesģ4. Lush Willows and Flowering Shrubberiesġ9.
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