Page 3 of There Is Also a Dog
Jillian Perry
to Mitchell
Well, this impatient asshole is originally from California, but I’d be grateful to pay the friends and family rate. Thanks.
And I have a lot of work to do, so I really hope the Wi-Fi signal is as good as you say it is.
When can I come up? I’d like to get out of my apartment ASAP—sorry, but there’s really no other way to get out of an apartment when there’s backup sewage involved.
Do you have a bathtub?
Laundry?
Mitchell Conrad
to me
Cabin is ready for guests, so come on up. It’s not supposed to snow anymore today, but I’ll stop by before you get there to shovel a path from the driveway.
Yes, there’s a soaker tub with a view. Separate shower.
Washer and a dryer so you can warm up your pillow before you go to bed ;)
I live about a mile away. Text if you need anything. 332-555-2873.
Jillian Perry
to Mitchell
That’s a Manhattan area code, Mitchell Conrad. You must be a former asshole New Yorker.
And then I gave him my number, he gave me the address of the cabin, recommended which grocery and wine store to stop by on the way here to stock up on supplies, and ended with yet another winky-face emoticon. So many winky-face emoticons!Who does that?
Unattainable, flirtatious, witty gay men who are never going to switch teams for you—that’s who.
I mean. Why else would there be such a gorgeous Christmas tree in the living room that is both elegant and cozy at the same time? A beautiful, live evergreen of some sort...I don’t know—it’s a green tree with needles. With pretty little white lights and silver bows and gold ornaments and pine cones.
It doesn’t reek of excess or desperation, and it almost makes me sort of hate Christmas a little less.
Except that I’m super horny and my usual friends-with-benefits have been on vacation, and that might be why I dislike Christmas even more than usual this year.
That and the fact that my ex-boyfriend is getting married and all of our mutual friends are at his wedding tonight.
What kind of asshole schedules a wedding on Christmas Eve?!
The kind my ex-boyfriend wants to form a legally accepted union with, apparently.
And good merry riddance to him! May she savor his pre-coffee personality and delight in being vigorously pounded by his slightly curved penis for one or two minutes twice a week for all eternity. Joyful blessings to both of them on their courageous journey to matrimonial bliss.
But how dare they hog all of my friends on my days off?
Which is what I’m saying to my sister over FaceTime, but she is so outrageously cheerful—for spiked eggnog and Mariah Carey and sunny LA reasons—that I can’t seem to get her on the same Grinchy page as me.
“Stop smiling at the camera,” I tell her. “Seriously. You’re giving me hives.”
“But I am so happy for you,” Elizabeth says, beaming at her phone. She isn’t even being sarcastic or condescending in a married-older-sister way. She seems to be genuinely happy for my craptastic situation. And she’s saying this from the pantry in her kitchen to hide from her husband’s relatives. She is also rearranging the cans and boxes on the shelves while we video chat because we are a family of multitaskers. For instance, I am currently working on a to-do list of sex positions in a beautiful new notebook.
“Whyon earth would you be happy for me?”
