I have a (straight, platonic) guy friend I messenger with (and to whom I send gratuitous leg shots) who, for all intents and purposes, ‘lives’ in my phone. For legal protection, I will not be changing the names to protect the guilty, so I’ll call my phone tenant ‘Sklor’. (Which, by the way, is his proper nickname. If you’re not a fan of Ghostbusters, you won’t understand.) Mr. Fever (who has been known to say, “Where’s Sklor?” instead of “Where’s your phone?” because of the frequency of our chats) is often the subject (or at least the predicate) of conversation between us.
Earlier this evening, while conversing with Sklor (before he left for work), I commented on the Mister’s dietary choices (sugar and more sugar) and told Sklor that my husband (who also has a proper nickname: Smotch) was being nutty.
Sklor: nutty smotch sounds like a dessert lol
Me: Thanks for the suggestion.
Cue music: I get by with a little help from my friends…
Of course, when Sklor came back online a couple hours later during his break time (he had to go to work, remember), he forgot all about his ‘suggestion’.
Me: Dessert was delish.
Sklor: I want some.
Me: Uhhh… I had Nutty Smotch for dessert, dude.
Sklor: oh fuck lol
*
Pause
*
Sklor: I like Smotch but not for consumption
*
Well, *I* like Smotch for consumption. And copulation. And attention and stimulation and a whole lot of other-tions that I’m too sated (satiation) to think of right now.
Just thought I’d share.
‘Night.
😉
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