...And Then Everything Went Horribly, Horribly Wrong

Literally.

He called at like 3:00 on his way back from a drive-thru, and despite my best interests, I picked up the call. Me and this kid. I tell you. I must like him a lot to tolerate his brand of often-thoughtless behavior. But picking up the phone just gave me more reasons why I do that.

He said he'd stop by and we'd watch a movie together - "Rodger Dodger" - an excellent choice. Since we were both in a righteous hangover state, we shared my sofa and my favorite blankie and spent the rest of the night changing channels and cracking jokes and basically having an epically hilarious time. And as I was able to mock him openly about the night before, it turned out to be cathartic. And enjoyable. We ordered in dinner - pot roast and mashed potatoes (baked chicken for me) - and laughed so hard we cried. I swear, we should have filmed it. Two bleary eyed comedians, mocking television. And we were hilarious. Much better than most of the shite that's on tv, that's for sure!

I realized, too, that I wasn't even the slightest bit bothered by the Puppy - as opposed to the way I felt during the still-drunk, still-too-recent blogging I did yesterday morning. Unfortunately, I don't feel as generous toward L. I'm all for occasional sloppy drunkenness, but there is a part of me that believes a person should keep his/her behavior in check. Even on "special" occasions, like when you intend to cheat on your husband with a has-been Hessian.

And it turns out that yes, the Puppy/my girlfriend hookup was basically a teenage fantasy come true for him. Through family, he has known her since he was like 10 (she's 7 years older than him)and basically has always wanted to hump her. He also wants to hump some other childhood fantasy women, including florence henderson and barbara billingsley. Ha. Despite the whole sloppy seconds thing, he was going to strike while the iron was hot. ... So to speak.

Anyhoo, it did wonders for our friendship, too, because now there will never be a question about where my affection toward him is coming from. If he ever gets the idea that I am being a bit too friendly, he only has to think back on one stomach-churning Friday night to know that, yes, my friendship for him is strictly friendship. And if, for some likely booze-addled instant, I look at him and think, "hmmm," all I have to do is think back on that very same night. At those moments, we will both remember that thanks to a friend of mine, he has been "sullied" for me, so we can both relax and enjoy the affection. Doesn't that work out well?

So I just sent him on his way with his hat and a cup of coffee, and he left me with a clean apartment and a David Niven movie. Ah, Puppy. There is hope for you.