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What else am I supposed to do with my free time? Golf?
When I was younger, when he was still alive, my father once told me that a well-tailored suit was like lingerie to a woman; you find yourself one of those, and it didn’t matter if you hadn’t shaved in a month or went out with bed head. Women would flock to you in droves.
I’m constantly snapping my fingers to magic it all away. My fingers are exhausted.
A little demonic ball of sunshine.
“God can’t come to the phone right now, sweetie,” I admonish him. “So please don’t invoke his name here.”
