In which Wendy’s betrays me.

My friends really know how to support me when it matters.

Exhibit A: this text exchange while I was endeavoring to stress eat…

Me: “‘Sorry, we’re out of chocolate Frosty, we only have vanilla.’ Oh. So you only have heresy? How dare you, Wendy’s? How. Dare. You.”

Friend 1: “What fresh hell is this?”

Friend 2: “BURN IT DOWN!!!!!”

Me: “They shouldn’t even be allowed to CALL that a Frosty. Hmph. (I’ve never had it, it might be delicious. Just not today.)”

Friend 2: “No. Vanilla? Fuck that shit. That’s not a goddamn Frosty. I love vanilla, but that is just blasphemy.”

Friend 1: “Frosty=chocolate. Anything else is a weird extra soft serve ice cream.”

Me: “I adore you both and will be blogging this discussion in the foreseeable future.”

Bare butts and blasphemy

My parents just showed up for an unannounced visit. They haven’t seen any of the places I’ve lived in for probably 10 years — we are not an “unannounced visit” kind of family.

This may be the only time in my life I’ve ever regretted not being into elaborate S&M scenarios with randos I meet on Tinder.

“Oh, hey, Parents! This is Ben and that’s Kyle. That’s Steve over there in the swing, and that’s Todd in the corner — he just likes to watch. Check this out, I got these fuzzy cuffs special for Handcuff Sunday. What, you guys do Saturdays? Yeah, we like the bonus blasphemy of the Lord’s day. It really adds something, right, Todd?”

Dude. It’s my day off. I’m wearing pajama pants with no underwear and haven’t brushed my teeth yet.

But hey, thanks for presuming I’d be home alone — much appreciated. (Yes, I AM, but I’m not always! Give me some credit!)