Earlier you asked me if I wanted to go out to dinner tonight.
I hope you understand the implications involved in inviting me to a “dinner” after only one rendez-vous with coffee and two nights of expensive IPAs for me and superfluous, extravagant apple martinis for you ending with a kiss (more out of obligation and courtesy rather than amorousness [Which by the way, you could use a little practice, because it felt like kissing the CEO of a Fortune 500 company (which is generally a man [I’m not gay] like Mark Zuckerburg (Sorry for the excessive use of parenthetical statements. It’s just that I generally speak in asides, which is difficult to do when there isn’t an equally intelligent women I’ve written to say the right things that could possibly sting me in any capacity)])]).
Back to dinner.
Do you even know what the divorce rate is? 49.5% in America, 44.7% in Puerto Rico, 33.6% in Russia… You get the point.
I LIKE FACTS AND CALLS TO ACTION!
I see how the next two to three years go. First it’s a casual dinner, then it’s an adorable but nauseating breakfast in which we wink and banter about the things we did the night prior, then we meet your parents and much later, we have an exhausting fight (instigated by you) about why I haven’t proposed.
Well, guess what, I already have a proposal for you now:
Why don’t we just skip all of this, you get me a glass of Johnny Black neat and we fuck? Afterwards, I’ll explain politics to you, even though I know it will go over your head.
If you are naively and pathetically looking for anything else, then you’re even more of an idiot than I thought you were.
Yours, you’re welcome,