But I'm pretty sure my friends don't like me liking the drugs. Be thankful you do not text me, or you will end up with a txt conversation like this when I'm all doped up on pain meds from having a tooth yoinked out of my damn jaw:
In response to him asking had I done something or another,
me: I totally forgot. My bad. I would forget my head if it wasn't sewn on.
Him: Your head isn't sewn on, babe.
Me: Not true. Unfortunate incident back in '94 involving chainmail, galoshes, a fedora & an angry clothesline. Don't ask for more details, my PTSD will kick back in.
Him: O...kay.
Me: Look, my dear - just...never trust the French. It can only end in pain. That's all I'm sayin.'
Him: O...kay. Right. So what are you doing, anyway?
Me: Sitting here making up stories for you about that one time I got decapitated in Quebec?
Him: Right. I have to go now.
I would have giggled, but that would only end in pain, too.
