after a late night of writing about the end of the world, i slept for only a few hours before my ladyfriend came in to kiss me before hopping the bus to work. the following conversation ensued:
her: move over, i’m going to cuddle you.
me: (announcing a morning talk show) and here she is, ladies and gentlemen, the woman who is taking america’s dirty imagination by storm! please give a warm welcome to her!
her: no, that’s not me. roll over.
me: (still announcing the show) ladies and gentlemen, don’t be put off by her modesty, let’s have some applause! listen here, you are the erotica sensation the nation is riveted by. honkies around the USA are saying to each other over breakfast, “man, i wish that lady would come over here and write something crazy about my sex life. maybe i should do something for myself and my own sex life? pass the butter.”
her: oh you, stop.
me: take a look around you. this truth is self evident. look outside. it’s like the birdsong.
her: what is?
me: birdsong. birdsong is nature’s sock commercials. birdsong.