“I screwed up our date night,” she says, clearly a little buzzed, “so I’m going to buy him a shirt, like a present.”
After a long, very convoluted process, she finally picks one, and as I wrap it up for her, she pulls up a picture of him on her phone.
When I comment that he’s a pretty good looking dude, she says, “Yeah, he’s cute, and he got stuck with me.”
“He’s doing fine, and you’re doing fine,” I say, fixing her with my most serious look.
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