I’ve had the confusing privilege of being obliged – pretty much against my will, or at least having had zero say in the matter – to spend a lot of time over the past three years with my best mate’s girlfriend. It’s not like I chose to keep hanging out with the two of them. He was my flat mate. Until she stole him away from me. Now I live on my own and I’m sad.
Look how unenthused he is by the whole thing.
That’s not love etched onto his face. It’s pain.
Which isn’t all that surprising seeing as the conversational topics that spew from her pretty mouth on the regular can be boiled down to a grand total of three.
And whoever the hell is getting married in the not too distant future
And guess what’s happening next June?
They’re already fucking practising. It’s lame.
That’s not my mate’s dad. That’s him.
I know. Easy mistake to make.
You know that scene from the Shawshank Redemption when old man Brooks gets freed after doing fifty years, and starts living on the outside and finds it all very confusing and ends up wanting to reoffend because jail is the only place he feels he fits in and can make any sense of? Given the opportunity to live life over again, odds-on Brooks would’ve liked to have not done time at all. But shit panned out the way it did. Life just happened. Well, this is kind of the way I feel about Chloe.
What I’m trying to say is sometimes the things that get forced upon you have a funny way of sneaking up on you and before you know it one day you come to and you’re pretty attached to them. I put on a front but secretly I’m not that opposed to them getting married. Not at all. Who knows it might be quite cool.
I mean any girl who can do a flaming 360 on a freakin snake board is okay in my book.
a s n a k e b o a r d