So your mom offered to buy us a house if we JUST get married already. Your dad thinks my tui shou skillz are mad. He doesn't speak English but I can read his thoughts. And I'm sitting here in a San Francisco hotel room because I suddenly thought I'd be happier here... eating stale pretzels, missing the miserable chill of a Halifax April and hating you for pissing me off on Facebook an hour ago. I've already picked out the snake I'll put in your shoe when I get home. His name is French Fry. I hope he bites your feet.
Our life is a sitcom. That's the best thing anyone's life can be nowadays. Yes to the chaos. Yes to the question you keep trying not to ask. I'll wear my yellow dress tomorrow, to remind me of your butt.
I lovingly hate you. Or.. hatingly love you. Either way, I'm stuck with you. It's not so bad.
Now. Off to get drunk and stand in the lobby making "In America, bank account owns YOU" jokes until I pass out and get carried, rock star style, back to whatever room this is. —White Rice