(A brief continuation of my diagrams for heartbreak.)
Bronwen and I agreed to a marriage pact, where we would marry each other if we weren’t in a relationship by a certain age. The thing is, she’s six years younger than me, so we decided that her expiration date is 35, and mine 41, because it’s easier for men to date/marry than women, at an older age.
Note how I didn’t say “easy”. Heaven knows I had a hard enough time with dating in my teens. And twenties. And probably 30s.
According to her, we also have a suicide pact, even though I have no recollection of this. The only reason I can think of agreeing to that is if large parts of the world were destroyed by meteors, leading to the collapse of the economic system, creating anarchy, and reducing everyone to hunter-gatherers.
Bronwen and I are most certainly not hunter-gatherers, and we’d probably suffer unbearably just trying to survive, or be killed soon after because we’re too naive or compassionate for a dog-eat-dog world. The thing is, if that happened I’d try to join forces with Pat and Jen, because they always have everything together1. So maybe if they were also killed by this cosmic hailstorm, then it would still be an option.
- Pat’s the one who believes that at least one person should be in control in every group at all times, and that he is this person. The only time he was ever inebriated was for his bachelor party. [↩]
(Turn up the sound!)
I never have a lot of it, but when I do, it means I can scratch my cat with my chin.
Once again, taken with my iPhone.
She was looking through some of my photos when she asked, “Is that the girl you like? The one on the swing?”
“Yeah”, I said. Then, “Like? Liked?”, because I wasn’t sure.
“You still like her. If you’re questioning it, that means you still do.”