Miranda Calls Jen

“He-he. He-he-he. Hahahahaha!”
“Alright. What’s his name wifey.”
“Hahahahaha! You fucking kill me. I’m assuming it was good.”
YES. Way good. Finally.”
“Finally? What do you mean?”
“Bad week.”
“Right. Gotcha. Gimme the stats.”
“Um…like 6’2”, dirty blond, blue eyes. Dimples. Bartender, and…”
“And what? Oh god. Miranda, if you say he’s 23, I’m gonna slap you through this phone.”
“He is, isn’t he.”
“Yeah. But Jen…”
“He’s a 23 year old musician, right?”
“On the nose. Singer songwriter.”
What? But that’s the…”
“Worst kind. I know. I’m aware of that, but this one is sooooo different.”
“No he’s not.”
“Okay, that’s true, but he’s way pretty.”
“Sean pretty?”
Keene pretty?
“Yeah dude, I know.”
“So, what now?”
“Well, now I called you.”
“And is he gonna call you?”
“Oh my god, he has your phone number, doesn’t he.”
“Yeah, just a little bit.”
“And then I’ll call you in a couple weeks when I’m pissed off ‘cause he’s ‘working on his music’ instead of working me.”
“Yeah. well that’s a good plan.”
“Thanks. I thought so myself.”

1 comment:

~PhoenixRising said...

Songwriter? Again?
I'll try and pull some strings on this whole running up to Seattle thing...