The conversation went something like this.
Me: Camille, I just don’t understand where you get the energy to still chase men. When we were younger it was ingrained, but now the mere thought leaves me exhausted.
Camille: You just have a bad case of the olds. Get over it. You’re as sexy as you choose to be.
Me: You sound like a bad infomercial, redundant as that may be…and it’s not just mental, and you know it. Our bodies just don’t cooperate.
Camille: Speak for yourself. My body’s on board, looking pretty good I might add.
Me: Well, if you have anymore lipo you’ll look mummified. We can change your name to Tut.
Camille: Just remember who can still wear a bikini.
Me: You see, my goal is to never wear one again.
Camille: Then you can just kiss all those men goodbye.
Me: What men? Like that developer from Massapequa you met at the car show? He has a toupee, was indicted for tax fraud and wears enough gold around his neck to make him worth kidnapping. Don’t you think you’ve slipped a little?
Camille: I have you know he’s a real catch.
Me: One you should have thrown back in the water. Do you really need sex that bad?
Camille: Yes. Haven’t you ever heard, if you don’t use it, you’ll lose it?
Me: I have used it, and it deserves its retirement.
Camille: You know Dex has a friend.
Me: The fact that he’s called Dex is enough for me to run the other way. I’ll stick with my books thank you.
Camille: You can’t fuck a book.
Me: That’s what you think. Depends what you’re reading.