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Leslie has taken to calling me a wanton whore, which makes me laugh. Haters gonna hate.

I’ve summoned every last bit of my descriptive power to tell you about the date.  It was: Wow.

(I know! I should be a writer!)

David skipped town this weekend (apparently we’re taking turns) so I got dinner for MoC on Friday and then I got her settled and told her I’d be back around 8pm to make her a snack so her blood sugar doesn’t plummet during the night. MoC told me she would get the snack herself and that I didn’t have to come back.

Me: I can come back. It’s not a big deal. I kind of planned for it.

MoC: I know, but you don’t have to. I can get it.

Me: Are you trying to get rid of me? I’m feeling a little hurt.

MoC: No, you just don’t have to go home and then come all the way back.

Me: Who said I was going home? Hmmm? What are you up to? Are you having a party?

MoC: No.

Me: Okay. I’ll get the snack ready so you don’t have to get up. But you have to promise me you’ll call me if you have a problem. Okay? Do you promise?

MoC: I promise.

Me: You’re not going to call, are you?

MoC: Nope.

Me: You’re impossible! Ohhh, I get it. You have a date, don’t you? You’ve got a man coming over here.

MoC: Nooo. I have two men coming over.

Apparently, that wanton whore thing runs in the family. (Sorry, MoC!)