So much has been going on in the last couple of weeks that I find myself forgetting things … like food. Which, while not exactly healthy, has had some unexpected benefits. Like my jeans don’t fit anymore.

This is an actual text conversation with Leslie. Only one slight change was made to protect my privacy (and my pants size). The whole thing made me giggle like a 5 year old and was exactly what I needed yesterday.

Me: My pants are falling off.

Leslie: Fucker.

Me: Well, they’re 48’s. Fucker.

(That was the lie. Do they even make 48’s for women?)

Leslie: I just snorted.

Me: You’d think I was snorting from how baggy my jeans are.

Leslie: LOL My waistband keeps rolling down … fucker.

Me: Maybe you need to borrow my big girl jeans. Fucker.

Leslie: They’ll be too long … fucker.

Me: You have a child’s legs. Fucker.

Leslie: I was compensated with a torso. Fucker

Me: I thought that said “taco.”  Fucker

Leslie:  You’re hallucinating from lack of food, fucker.

Me: I’m not hungry, fucker.

Leslie: Tell me your secret. Fucker.

Me: It’s not like me at all. Stress usually makes me pig out. Fucker.

Me: You realize if someone murders you, they’ll pull your texts & I’ll be a suspect. Jesus, thanks a lot, fucker.

She doesn’t call me a fucker all the time. Usually she calls me an asshole, but not Ms Supreme Asshole. Be warned, though, if you call me a fucker, she’ll cut you.  😀 Which is why I won’t sleep with the girl she has a crush on. Probably.

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