Me: Hey babe!
(A brief silence)
GF: Yeah!
Me: Where are you?
GF: I'm in the bedroom; on the phone with Mary.
Me: Oh. Tell her I said hi. Have you done any laundry this week?
GF: Yeah. But I was only able to get one load of the whites done... Why?
(Thinking to myself: This chick is unemployed and stays home all day watching episodes of "This American Life", while smoking all of my pot. And she only had time to do one load of laundry? WTF?!)
Me: Damn it! I can't find my favorite shirt. I wore it last weekend to Ryan's barbecue. Do you remember if you washed it?
(Clueless to what I'm talking about.)
GF: Which one? You have so many! Maybe it got mixed up with my pile of dirty clothes in here.
(Making my way towards the bedroom, in hopes to find my missing shirt. Frustrated. Mumbling to myself: "Why haven't I kicked this chick out yet? She hasn't paid rent in months since she's been laid off. She rarely cleans up around the house, let alone after herself. She eats all my otter pops and is notorious for leaving only one pizza roll in the goddamn box. One! One fucking roll! How am I suppose to get full off of just one?! What's worse? She smokes all my pot and neglects to mention she did, only when I ask her to pack me a bowl.")
(Walking through the bedroom door, I head straight to the pile of dirty clothes laying in the corner of the room, without even acknowledging her. She watches intently as I rummage through her smelly bits of unwashed clothing; like a bum goes dumpster diving; in hopes to find some unwanted piece of trash. But, to no avail.)
GF: Not there?
(I ignore her question. Dating for sometime now, she's grown to notice that I'm upset when I talk to her in my irritable tone, without even looking in her direction. I walk over to my dresser in total dismay. I start searching through piles of folded t-shirts and begin tossing the ones out that don't match the description of the one in question. She rolls her eyes and continues her conversation on the phone.)
Me: Babe, you know which one! I've had it since college. It's one of my favorite books when I was growing up.
(No response. Tossing out the last shirt left in the drawer, I place my hands behind my head as if I'm being arrested and look straight up at the ceiling)
Me: Fuck!!! I can't find my "Where The Wild..." (While turning around to face her, I see this...)
Me: Oh. My. God. I love you (Underneath my breath).
Some say that 'make-up' sex is the best kind of sex. I beg to differ. I recommend you try "Frustrated-I-can't-find-my-favorite-shirt-and-you've-been-wearing-it-all-this-time" sex. Then tell me I ain't right.
