How long have I lived in D.C.? Nine years. No, not nineteen… I mean, yeah. Nineteen. No need to make you feel bad. Nineteen it is. Which makes me 37, I suppose. Thanks! I do look young for my age.
That’s weird. My gums don’t usually bleed this much.
I’m fine we’re fine I’m fine it’s fine. I am totally OK with the pace this relationship is going. No, I don’t want more! I am 100 percent not in love with you right now, I definitely haven’t been since November, and I assuredly do not lie awake at night because I’m convinced you’re going to break my heart.
Everything’s great! I’m not secretly thinking that everything is, in fact, average, including your service. I can totally rationalize that I’m going to pay $13.00 for this reuben, which is NOT a $13.00 reuben, for a multitude of reasons, starting with the absence of Russian dressing. You shouldn’t be worried about your tip, even though I’m a gay man, and I’ll inevitably end up give you 20%, because we have a rep to maintain. Also, I’m completely fine with this empty Diet Coke and didn’t even want a refill.
Sorry. No cash on me.
This is the year you stop. Stop passing your truths off as stories. Stop hiding behind glasses and hooded sweatshirts. Stop relying on sarcasm and self-awareness. Stop answering questions before they’ve been fully asked. Stop treating friendship as a form of transaction. Stop wishing you were someone or somewhere else. Stop overeating. Stop undersleeping. Stop thinking. Stop hurting. Stop stopping.