"What are you going to do for me for Valentine’s Day?" Lady Brown Pants asked her skinny long-legged partner. "Will you drape beautiful icees around my turkey neck like you did in 1986?"
Skinny Long-Legs considered climbing over the railing for a second or two before answering. "No, I think I’ll torture you with some nipple clamps and bang your sister. She’s not dead yet, is she?"
"I want an egg cream," offered Feeble Cane User.
This is Henry’s final year to do something amazing for Valentine’s Day. I don’t care much for expensive gifts and French dinners, but I’d like something more than, oh I don’t know, nothing. I feel like he gave me a Hershey’s bar last year which was kind of insulting, but the fact that I can’t remember probably means he didn’t get me anything at all. Maybe if he had stopped by Walgreens and picked up some foo-foo old lady perfume to go with the imaginary chocolate bar, it would have been a different story.
Since I work nights, I think we’re going to try and get someone to babysit for us this weekend and I swear to god if he takes me to fucking Denny’s, he’s a dead man.
I want to do something wild and erotic, like hide in a trench with aborigine blow darts (the solution to everything) and shoot city cops in the neck as retribution for all the times they violate traffic laws.
Henry said he’ll care more when I finally grow up, whatever that means.