My friend B cracks me up. But also offends me in the same breath. And I love him for it. The thing about it is that underneath all the ball scratching and inappropriate conversation (which defines him) is a fucking cuddly Build-a-Bear; complete with little red heart and cheesy catchphrase.
Today I bring a cookie over to his cube. I ask him if he wants it. Of course he does. It’s a fucking thin mint. Who doesn’t want a thin mint? Then he mentions the thin mint shake at Dairy Queen and how it’s the bomb. A third person chimes in that they may go to DQ after work and get said shake. B tells them it may no longer be available because it’s a seasonal item. I say, “That’s ok; you can probably find something as equally awesome.” And B says, yeah, “Like FAT CHICKS.”
And now you know B.
He is in the process of buying a new truck. What is it about men and commitment? This guy can’t even commit to a vehicle. Seriously, he once went home for lunch and called me asking me for a ride back to work.
“What happened to your car?”
“I sold it,” he said.
“Over lunch?”
“Yep. Everything has its price.”
And every time he gets a new car, it’s a downgrade. And I’m hoping this isn’t a trend he applies to other areas of his life. He’s looking at huge trucks right now.
“Why do you need such a big truck?” I ask.
“Because fat chicks can’t jump,” he responds.
But he’s wrong. I’ve been to some cheer competitions and trust me, fat girls can jump.
My point is, that at the end of the day it’s guys like B who make me glad I’m single. However, he’s also the first person to notice that I haven’t been around lately, that my hair is different and that I don’t seem very chipper. He can notice all that and continuously scratch his balls. The boys got talent.
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