The Glamarazzi

SECOND DATE. My girlfriend huffed and puffed on my bed. She practiced the pout we’ve been trying to master all season.

“It’s been 2 weeks.”
“When’s the longest?”
“Three days.”
“Didn’t you just see him last week?”
“That is just it. I did. And everything was ok, and we were so good.”
“Or you think you were so good.”
Baffled. “Well, what would make it not good?”
“You are the only one who can answer that.”
“It was good. Everything went well – he even kissed me before saying good night.”
“Ohhh…”
“What’s with the knowing Ohhh…?”
“You slept with him!”
“Ummm…”
“You slut!”
“I cannot help it!”
“What, you just happen to be horizontal together and that’s it?”
“…he said that we had a moment…”
“…and that he had fun?”
“…said I was special and he cannot imagine having anything like what we had with anyone else…”
“…even kissed you on the forehead?”
Audible pause.
“I’m screwed.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Does that mean he’s not gonna call?”
“What for?”
“Well, talk. I mean, he really likes me. And I, him!”
“That’s mental.”
Sigh. “And physical…”
“Yuck. Need I not know.”
“If nothing – after another week, then let’s just say we move forward.”
“NO!! What if I call him myself?”
“Double no. Then you’ll end up thinking he just wanted to talk to you because you called him first r if he really do want to talk to you.”
“Then I’ll wait till he calls then?”
“Did he say he was gonna call?”
“Uhuh?”
“you could have gone, if I don’t hear anything from you, can I call you instead?”
Horrified. “I would never say that.”
“Point. Taken.”
“Do you realize we’ve been going at this for minutes now?”
“This is such a waste of time!”
“Next time we do this, we should bring out a scalpel and a Voodoo doll.”