extra pair where you should have a fucking brain."
I sat back and sighed. "You're supposed to be on my side here."
"I am on your side, moron. I'm just saying - how would you feel if you and whatsername..."
"...Lacie. Her name's Lacie."
"Lacie. Okay. How would you feel if you ran into some dude and it turned out she'd done them both family style?"
"She's a modern woman," I said. "It's not the nineteenth century."
"Bullshit. You're telling me you wouldn't even slightly freak?"
I thought about it. "Okay," I admitted. "I probably would. A little."
"A little?"
"Maybe more."
"Damn right you would," said Bryan. "It's fucking weird. And slightly gross. How did you even do that anyway? Didn't you know it was her Mom?"
"Nope," I said. "I didn't know. Because I am a massive skank. I don't even get their names most of the time."
"But this one you did."
"Yeah. And now she's not returning my calls."
"So give her time," said Bryan. "It was like three hours ago."
"Okay, but..."
He groaned. "Oh my God. How many times did you call her in the last three hours?"
"No more than normal," I said. "I just wanted to talk to..."
"...Clay. How many?"
"Four."
"Ow."
"Is that bad?"
"Terrible. Now you look like a skank and a psycho."
"Yeah," I said, reaching for the bong. "About that...I may have said some things that implied she was being oversensitive."
Bryan made a kind of strangled gurgling sound on the end of the line. "Go on," he said, after a short, painful pause.
"Well, she can be kind of a Princess..."
I heard him exhale.
"Do you think there's any way she could take me calling her 'Princess Fuckpants' as a joke?" I said.
"No, bro. No way."
"Yeah. That's what I thought." Me and the bong had a hot date for tonight. Me, the bong and his friendly cousin Jack Daniels. Why not make it a full on carcinogenic, liver-rotting three-way? "You think she'll be mad?"
"I think you'll be single."
"Shit. Because I don't want to be. Single, that is. I kind of like her. She knows stuff."
"You need the name of a good florist?" he asked.
"I think maybe I do."
I looked online but the prices of some of the bouquets were insane. Eventually, after four Jack Daniels' and a bongload of Psycho Bob's finest, I went looking at a bunch of websites about the meanings of flowers. Some were obvious, like roses for love and lilies for mourning, but apparently lime blossom was a symbol of fornication. Who knew limes were such perverts?
Obviously I was not in the greatest shape the next morning. Worse, there was no sign of Lacie. Her dragon of an aunt was minding the front of the store. "Well, look what the cat dragged in," she said.
I tried to hide behind my sunglasses.
"Migraine?" she said. She drew closer and sniffed. "Oh. No. Hangover. My bad."
"I'm really...um...sorry." It was an effort to make my lips work. I felt like my brain was filled with tiny pixies, all of them working pneumatic drills at once.
"Whatever," she said. "No skin off my nose. Just make sure you drink some water. And eat something."
"Thanks." Wow. What had got into her this morning? She was almost nice.
"If your blood sugar bottoms out and you end up with a workplace injury the paperwork is gonna be a fucking bitch," she said. Ah, there was the Cassandra I knew and loved. "So try not to turn your dick on the lathe, okay sweetie?"
The morning went by slowly. Still no sign of Lacie. I wondered if she was up in her room, sulking or making voodoo dollies of me. As time went on I began to feel like I didn't care where she was or if she ever came down again. Fuck her. Why should I have to account for every woman I ever stuck my dick in?
Steve swung by at lunchtime. He took one look at my face and said "Oh boy. Cherchez la femme."
"It's nothing," I said.
He raised an eyebrow. "It's not nothing. I stopped by yours this morning and Bog pointed out the level on the Jack Daniels bottle
I sat back and sighed. "You're supposed to be on my side here."
"I am on your side, moron. I'm just saying - how would you feel if you and whatsername..."
"...Lacie. Her name's Lacie."
"Lacie. Okay. How would you feel if you ran into some dude and it turned out she'd done them both family style?"
"She's a modern woman," I said. "It's not the nineteenth century."
"Bullshit. You're telling me you wouldn't even slightly freak?"
I thought about it. "Okay," I admitted. "I probably would. A little."
"A little?"
"Maybe more."
"Damn right you would," said Bryan. "It's fucking weird. And slightly gross. How did you even do that anyway? Didn't you know it was her Mom?"
"Nope," I said. "I didn't know. Because I am a massive skank. I don't even get their names most of the time."
"But this one you did."
"Yeah. And now she's not returning my calls."
"So give her time," said Bryan. "It was like three hours ago."
"Okay, but..."
He groaned. "Oh my God. How many times did you call her in the last three hours?"
"No more than normal," I said. "I just wanted to talk to..."
"...Clay. How many?"
"Four."
"Ow."
"Is that bad?"
"Terrible. Now you look like a skank and a psycho."
"Yeah," I said, reaching for the bong. "About that...I may have said some things that implied she was being oversensitive."
Bryan made a kind of strangled gurgling sound on the end of the line. "Go on," he said, after a short, painful pause.
"Well, she can be kind of a Princess..."
I heard him exhale.
"Do you think there's any way she could take me calling her 'Princess Fuckpants' as a joke?" I said.
"No, bro. No way."
"Yeah. That's what I thought." Me and the bong had a hot date for tonight. Me, the bong and his friendly cousin Jack Daniels. Why not make it a full on carcinogenic, liver-rotting three-way? "You think she'll be mad?"
"I think you'll be single."
"Shit. Because I don't want to be. Single, that is. I kind of like her. She knows stuff."
"You need the name of a good florist?" he asked.
"I think maybe I do."
I looked online but the prices of some of the bouquets were insane. Eventually, after four Jack Daniels' and a bongload of Psycho Bob's finest, I went looking at a bunch of websites about the meanings of flowers. Some were obvious, like roses for love and lilies for mourning, but apparently lime blossom was a symbol of fornication. Who knew limes were such perverts?
Obviously I was not in the greatest shape the next morning. Worse, there was no sign of Lacie. Her dragon of an aunt was minding the front of the store. "Well, look what the cat dragged in," she said.
I tried to hide behind my sunglasses.
"Migraine?" she said. She drew closer and sniffed. "Oh. No. Hangover. My bad."
"I'm really...um...sorry." It was an effort to make my lips work. I felt like my brain was filled with tiny pixies, all of them working pneumatic drills at once.
"Whatever," she said. "No skin off my nose. Just make sure you drink some water. And eat something."
"Thanks." Wow. What had got into her this morning? She was almost nice.
"If your blood sugar bottoms out and you end up with a workplace injury the paperwork is gonna be a fucking bitch," she said. Ah, there was the Cassandra I knew and loved. "So try not to turn your dick on the lathe, okay sweetie?"
The morning went by slowly. Still no sign of Lacie. I wondered if she was up in her room, sulking or making voodoo dollies of me. As time went on I began to feel like I didn't care where she was or if she ever came down again. Fuck her. Why should I have to account for every woman I ever stuck my dick in?
Steve swung by at lunchtime. He took one look at my face and said "Oh boy. Cherchez la femme."
"It's nothing," I said.
He raised an eyebrow. "It's not nothing. I stopped by yours this morning and Bog pointed out the level on the Jack Daniels bottle
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