HIM: I’m calling in sick and driving you to the hospital.
ME: No go to work. I have two of my girlfriends taking me.
HIM: I should take you.
ME: Don’t take this the wrong way but I refuse to be seen in your car.
HIM: What’s wrong with my car?
ME: it’s too lame. And I HATE the color. Tan, who drives a tan car? But you could drive me in my car.
HIM: NO! I’m not driving a flaming red convertible chick car.. and the operative word is FLAMING… why not just paint “Old Queen In Mid Life Crisis” on the side.
ME: You give me a headache. I have to pack my stuff.
HIM: You’re going to the hospital, what do you have to pack?
ME: the usual stuff.
HIM: Make up, whiskey, and expresso beans?
ME: I don’t drink, just make up, cause I don’t know if this hospital is prepared to accommodate my caffeine requirements.
HIM: Costa Rica is not prepared to accommodate your caffeine requirements. And Wait. When did you stop drinking?
ME: Years ago. i haven’t drank or done drugs for years.
HIM: Really? You’ve been sober for years?
HIM: Are you serious? This is what you’re REALLY like? This is more disturbing than coming home and finding you passed out using a Jack Daniels bottle for a pillow with two rolled up dollar bills sticking out of your nostrils.
ME: That only happened a couple times… COOKIE MONSTER
HIM: What about my cookies? You think they’re ruining my heart?
ME: No, not really, you don’t eat that many.
HIM: (Confessing) I eat two in the morning, and 2 at night, and Sometimes 2 during the day.
ME: Those big huge giant cookies? I never see you eat that many cookies.
HIM: (Embarrassed) Yeah, cause I hide it from you. And sometimes I have a Think Bar too.
ME: Speaking of think, I think you should come with us to the hospital, so that my girlfriends can drop you off at Betty Ford, once I’m admitted. You’re a cookie-aholic.
HIM: Uggh… Betty Ford…. that would be horrible.
ME: Are you KIDDING? Betty Ford is LOVELY this time of year.