Harry Potter and the Order of Dick Wizards

During a text conversation evaluating the things we like best about being naked together, New Person told me I’m “a wizard with [my] tongue.”

So…yeah. Sending in my Hogwarts application today.

Also: “Weeeeee are the champions, my friiieeeennnnnds…”

P.S. Don’t care if he’s exaggerating to feed my ego. I am a Dick Wizard.

We’re this close to synchronized Swatches.

Texting with friends…

Friend 1: “You know it was a productive therapy session when you immediately get cheese fries afterwards.”

Friend 2
: “Nice. I’m going tonight as well.”

Me
: “Ha, I’m going tomorrow.”

Friend 1
: “Awwwww…we’re on the same therapy cycle.”

Friend 2
: “That feels more important than syncing our periods.”

The best-(getting)-laid plans

I might get to have sex tomorrow, so obviously my brain has picked today to have a total goddamn meltdown and decide that everything about my physical appearance is disgusting.

Whatever, bitch. You know he doesn’t care about a pimple — you wouldn’t want to sleep with him if he did. And he’s already seen you naked and still opted to invite you back.

We are getting laid if the opportunity presents itself, so get your judgy ass on board.

“What about all that other stuff I’m telling you, how he’s probably already over any real attraction but is smart enough not to say so to a woman who’s so clearly willing to sleep with him?”

Nope. Don’t care. Maybe he’ll fuck the Crazy out of you, and if that doesn’t work, that’s why we pay a therapist.