Last night our former (I would've said old, but I know you're out there reading this, Hardy, and I can't have you worrying whether I meant age. P.S. You're old. P.P.S. Just kidding. P.P.P.S. Not really) college professor came home all prodigal-like (you know, after spending our tuition on whores and feasts) and visited for some drinks late in the evening. (Too many asides?)
There was much jumping and hugging and delight. We were that table.
When you break the rules, but nobody gets hurt?
Awesome.
And when the rules are really just social convention?
Even better.
But then you realize that you were out until bar time on a work night and your eyelids are superheavy and you smell vaguely of fry-cooker?
Still pretty good.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment