“I was on the moon…with Steve!”

I just found out my sister’s friend is coming along on our “family” vacation, and the way she told me was, “Steve is coming with us if you want anyone to share a room/split costs with. Ahem… :)”

Did my sister just suggest AGAIN that I bang her friend?

I didn’t tell this story because it wasn’t worth reporting, but I’ve met the guy — she tried to set us up a few months ago when he visited from CA. So we had a few drinks and he took me back to his hotel room at 2 a.m. and….talked my fucking ear off about the nature of the universe and my biggest fears until I was half-unconscious. Dude, we JUST met!

I chose to drive home in a pseudo-coma rather than sleep in his extra bed when he offered, just so I wouldn’t have to listen to him anymore. (I was still in the Bad Place then, so it was all I could do not to say, “Do you know that if you shut the hell up, you can fuck me senseless and you won’t have to call me tomorrow or pretty much ever again?”)*

Do you know how much you have to talk for ME to say you talk too much? It’s like me fucking telling you fucking swear too fucking much. And also? Fuck.

So no, I will not be sharing a room with Steve. I will require a minimum of 6 hours of alone time each day so as not to murder my family, and now I’d also have to kill Steve, who probably wouldn’t stop talking even in death.

*To his credit, even if he HAD known that, he probably wouldn’t have, because he’s, like, an actual gentleman, even if he does talk too much.

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