“Next thing ya know, Shorty got low, low, low, low…”

“Hey, Brain? I’m not sure what’s happening here, but… You realize shopping online for things you don’t need with money you don’t have isn’t going to make you feel better, right?”

“Are you sure? Because I REALLY feel like it might.”

“The line is your belt.”

I had lunch with my dad yesterday and tried to explain where the line is between him calling our server “honey” because he’s old and that’s what old people do, and some random middle-age fuckface calling ME “honey” on the subway because he’s a cretin.

But this morning it occurred to me — the line is your belt, Dad. You call a woman “honey” with your brain or your heart (ie, the bits ABOVE your belt)? COOL — fatherly.

You call her “honey” with your dick? NOT cool — Molester Uncle.

It’s not the word. It’s the smarm.

Nope, you ruined it.

I saw a guy on Bumble I might like to get to know better, but his profile said “SB/SD welcome.”

I am An Old and had NO idea what that meant. So I Googled it at work, which is how you should always learn about something you’ve never heard of that’s pretty likely to be some freaky sex shit.

Not REALLY, but turns out it’s “sugar baby/sugar daddy,” and…ew.

Dude, I just wanna fuck you — why you gotta make it weird?

The only way I need YOU to pamper me is by going down on me for a respectable length of time. I can handle my own…spa treatments or jewelry or whatever the hell.

Plus, I think I’m too old to be a “sugar baby.” I threw up in my mouth a bit just typing it. 🤢

“Diamonds are a girl’s best…wait, is that cake?”

I’m listening to Michelle Obama’s audiobook, and she’s describing how Barack proposed to her in a restaurant. The server brought the dessert plate and lifted the fancy lid, and there was “a dark velvet box where the chocolate cake was supposed to be.”

And, OK, fine — yay, congrats, mazel, etc.

But also, um… You’re still gonna bring my cake, right? It’s just backstage somewhere?

I feel like she really glossed over the important part.

My needs are simple

I mean… I don’t go to friends’ parties SPECIFICALLY so I can hook up with their friends, but I’m not gonna lie, it does eliminate some of the legwork. Like, OK, I already know you’re not a serial killer or a Trump supporter. Neat. What else ya got?