One of the things I miss most now that I’ve moved out of Smalltimore is hanging out with Foxy. I miss seeing her at work every morning, gossiping about the douche bags at Investments r Us, and making vag jokes. I miss how she calls me Prostitution Whore, though I am developing a fondness for her new term for me: whore faced whore. Nothing says, “I love and respect you,” like your friend calling you a “whore faced whore.” She’s an angel.
After not having seen Foxy in some time, we were reunited yesterday. We did some minor shoe shopping, and then we had lunch. There, we immediately began drinking. Know what’s awesome? Foxy Luv hammered in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen her telling the female bartender that she wants to get all up on her rack. It’s really klassy.
Immediately following our klassy lunch, we stumbled out of the restaurant and down the street to the sex shop.
Ever been drunk sex toy shopping? You totally should. But when you sober up and look at the your purchases, don’t be surprised if you have buyer’s remorse. Lord only knows who on God’s green earth needs that much pina colada lube.