“C is for Coitus. That’s good enough for me.”

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.

Um… Is that why it’s “organic?”

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?

Sometimes a macaron is just a macaron.

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?”

Conversations over dinner…

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.”