Just when you think you’re about to have a nice, peaceful weekend, some nut decides to catch up texting her little heart out.
So I’m in Frisco with Fredrico eating on the marina. Where are you?
Home cleaning my oven.
You’re not thinking of putting your head in it now are ya? I mean, not again.
Actually I was going to bake brownies for the doormen but, I appreciate the suggestion. Let’s see how the day goes.
Don’t you have any plans besides feeding Slavic men?
Sure I do. Big ones.
I’m gonna read.
You know Susannah, your life has gotten pretty sad. Hold on…you call that shrimp? Fredrico tell the chef at 8 bucks apiece they’re unacceptable.
Was it necessary for you to text that?
Want you to feel included honey, sitting there all alone.
You know Camille, I’m very happy being by myself and you’re the only one who seems to have a problem with it.
You’re shriveling up. You haven’t had sex in how long? Well there was that little trip to the beach, but knowing you, you preferred spooning all night while he snored you both into oblivion. You need to get back into action. I’ll be home on Saturday. Fred needs to see his wife who’s threatening to spray paint his Mercedes again. Honestly. See if it were me, I’d just drive it off a cliff. So drinks at Bemelmans? Give my regards to Duncan Hines and all those brain dead doormen. Just remember, they’re only hot horderves, at best…not a main course.
Right, I’ll make a note.
Fredrico, for a 15 pound lobster, I mean really…he’s the Tom Thumb of the deep…