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“Shawn, I want you to know that if I needed mouth to mouth, and you were the last paramedic on Earth, I prefer donations made to the ASPCA in lieu of flowers at my funeral.”
Nothing offended me except for cauliflower and stupidity.
Few men could spar with me when I was at my saltiest, and running that gauntlet was practically foreplay for me.
“You don’t want to buy what I need. Trust me.” I scoffed. “What? Pads? Tampons? I have six sisters. This isn’t my first rodeo. Text me what you want.”
Green flag
“My granddad used to always say, ‘Even duct tape can’t fix stupid,’” I said, putting my straw in my mouth. “Hmm. No. But it can muffle the sound.”
“I’d be offended if I wasn’t so fucking practical.”
“So what do you think is romantic?” “Common sense,”
We hated all the same stuff—artsy indie movies with endings that didn’t have any closure, pineapple on pizza, daylight savings
What the hell is wrong with being practical and looking at things logically?”
And anyway, I already know how I’m going to die.” We stopped in front of the truck window. The generator made a whirring noise, and the scrape of spatulas on a sizzling grill clinked from inside. “How?” I asked. “Spider bite. Or being sarcastic at the wrong time.”
“How do you stay so fucking patient with these people?” Brandon shrugged. “It’s just the job. You do your best to educate them when you can.” “Does it work?” “No,”
“I am not drunk. I’m just talking in cursive.
Have you ever had the urge to tell someone to shut the fuck up when they aren’t even talking?
Fuck my uterus.
“So stubborn, all the time.” “No. Sometimes I’m asleep.
