The Wooer returns tomorrow from 2 weeks of Army Reserve annual training. Brushing the crumbs out from between the sheets.
SEX: Coming soon.
The Wooer sends a WWF update: “We resigned the last game. Also I just played ‘shits’ while on the toilet which pretty much rocks.”
Folding laundry, The Wooer falls to the floor in pain. “What?! Charley horse?”
He hit himself in the nuts shaking out a sock.
With a firm hand, he presses me back to the door’s threshold: “This place where I am going, you cannot follow.”
Home, to play Starcraft 2.
“Wait. Women get *two* rings?! That’s such bullshit.” —The Wooer
The Wooer: “You’re so quiet. I love you.”
Two Americans in Italy, Day 2:
The Wooer: “Where’s the light switch in this bathroom?”
“Look above the dick-washer!”
@tcdavis: The Girlfriend: That bathroom cost €0,60 and didn’t have toilet paper. So part of our map is missing. A small part. We didn’t even need it!
Two Americans in Italy, Day 5:
Arrived in Lucca.
Wooer: “Oh man. This is so beat!”
“YOU’RE NOT THE FIRST PERSON TO READ ‘ON THE ROAD.’”
The Wooer: “You dig that tweet, baby!”
Standing beside The Wooer in line, I slip my hand into his back pocket and give a fond squeeze.
“There isn’t any money in there,” he offers.
The Wooer left behind a sweet note in my apartment for me to find, and it has “blowjob” written all over it.
“Leaving for your place soon.”
SMS from The Wooer: “Cool. This party is BYOTP BTW.”
“What’re you doing?”
The Wooer [after a few beers; rubbing my hip]: “Nothing provocative! I’m not writing checks my body can’t cash.”
“Already?! You’re probably just hungry for dick.”
“You’re a dicktritionist now?”
“I worked long and hard for this degree!”
For Christmas, I got some books. For cohabitating, I got a Wii, instant Netflix, Amazon Prime, someone to take out the trash, and an Apple TV.
The Wooer made dinner reservations for tonight at a super-nice restaurant, but we already had sex earlier today so the joke’s on him.
Upon rousing, The Wooer typically stretches, then makes his need state known: “I’m horngry!”
“My tummy’s grumblin’.”
The Wooer: “My dick’s grumblin’.”
After we ate dinner in front of the TV tonight, The Wooer scratched my back for at least a minute. God I love foreplay.
The Wooer’s developed a habit of ferrying snacks from the kitchen to his office and never returning them. Now seeking breakfast in The Mantry.
The Wooer [to the kitten]: “All we ever do anymore is talk about how cute you are! This must be what baby ownership is like.”
“*YOU’RE* NOT A HIGH-HANDED, LYING, EMOTIONALLY INACCESSIBLE MAN, ARE YOU?
“Quit watching Mad Men.”
The Wooer: “When I sneezed, I also farted, but you didn’t know.”
Casually ordered The Wooer’s mom flowers from him. Smiling coyly. Wearing a bra. Feeling so Joan Holloway.
“Is that tab titled, ‘My Unresolved Issues?’”
Developer: “Yeah. Why?”