Friend: “Sesame Street has an O Show. O is Oprah and she’s giving out oboes. ‘You get an oboe! You get an oboe!'”
Me: “This went to a place in my brain that is inappropriate for Sesame Street. But on the pervy shady side streets? You get an O-face.”
Friend: “You get an orgasm! You get an orgasm!”
You guys… Gross, can you imagine?
Maybe that’s why Guy was so Smiley.
The entirety of my text conversation with a friend:
Friend: “It’s so wrong that my kid’s bath soap looks like a fresh batch of come…ewww.”
Me: “Eeeewwww. But ha. :)”
Friend: “I knew you’d understand.”
My friendships are…different, aren’t they?
Follow-up thought: At least it was a fresh batch?
I love that it’s perfectly normal for my ladies’ night conversations to progress naturally to me saying to the guy running the French bakery: “Speaking of Freud, may I please have that macaron with the goo in the middle?”
Me: “I used to hate ‘box’ as a euphemism for ‘vagina,’ but I don’t know, I’ve kind of embraced it.”
Friend: “You’ve embraced your box?”
Me: “Well, at this point, embracing my box is like doing my laundry — no one else is gonna do it for me.”
Smug Singleton 