Dr. Goodhead: How’s it going? Any progress?Me: Well…we’ve been here for thirty minutes, I haven’t sold a single raffle ticket yet, and I’m already drunk. How’s that for progress?
Dr. Goodhead: Awesome. At least we’re on the same page.
Me: Nobody cares about the stupid raffle! I think they need to drink more.
Dr. Goodhead: I think we need to drink more.
Me: Word.
Dr. Goodhead: Ohmygaw, I almost forgot -- did you hear that my boss, Dee Dee, totally sideswiped the catering truck?
Me: Um…actually, I was standing right next to you when we saw it happen.
Dr. Goodhead: Oh. Shit, maybe I don’t need to drink anymore.
Me: No, seriously, have another drink, you deserve it. I saw that…thing Dee Dee bought for you.
Dr. Goodhead: Okay, for real: I know it’s the thought that counts and all, but…what the hell was she thinking?
Me: What even is it? I mean, it’s like a shawl or something, right?
Dr. Goodhead: I have no idea. It’s too flimsy to be a blanket and too…frou-frou to be a shroud—
Me: And too big to fit in the garbage disposal.
Dr. Goodhead: I know, I tried. It wouldn’t be such a bad gift if it wasn’t so, you know, horrible. Can you imagine if I wore it in public? It’s so ugly it might hurt somebody’s feelings.
Me: I’m sorry.
Dr. Goodhead: If you were truly sorry, you wouldn’t be laughing like that.
Me: Well, I’m sorry about that, too.
Dr. Goodhead: And she said she thought my mother would especially love it.
Me: Why? Oh my gosh, is there something the matter with her eyes?
Dr. Goodhead: Don’t laugh so hard, Mr. Smarty-Pants; she also said you might really like to borrow it, too.
Me: …what?
Dr. Goodhead: Mm-hmm.
Me: Like in case I’m lost in the wilderness and need to burn something for warmth?
Dr. Goodhead: Like in case you want to dress up like a fairy princess and mince around.
Me: Okay, I’ve never been so insulted in all my life.
Dr. Goodhead: It’s a shame that gay men are stereotyped as being cross-dress—
Me: Girl, please. I’m insulted because if I really was going to start cross-dressing, I sure as hell wouldn’t be caught dead in that thing.
Dr. Goodhead: Right. Hey, you want to sneak into the kitchen and steal some more petit fours?
Me: No thanks. Getting screamed at in front of everybody by the chef once was enough.
Dr. Goodhead: And now that Dee Dee has tried to destroy their truck, we’re probably even less popular than ever.
Me: Yeah. Hey, you want to dance?
Dr. Goodhead: No thanks. Getting caught by the hostess while pretending to make out in the coatroom was enough humiliation for one night, I think.
Me: Well, that and the getting screamed at in front of everybody.
Dr. Goodhead: Right.
Me: Right.
Dr. Goodhead: So, then, more drinks?
Me: Lead the way.
Someone Got Here By Searching For: how to let a massage know you want a handjob [I wonder just how, exactly, that subtle conversation might go.] I’m Watching: Jack & Bobby, and I haven’t rolled my eyes that many times in one hour since Anna still worked in our East Coast office. And: Charmed, which, if I rolled my eyes every time it was warranted, I would probably suffer irreparable ocular strain.