'No. For the millionth time, no. I'm not cutting my hair. Just cos you hate hair all over your face, doesn't mean I do. And I like how it hides my ears. They stick out a bit and sometimes I get self conscious about it.'
Trish. Dude. You’re overthinking it again. Relax, have a burrito, and then we’ll go skinny dipping, okay?
"Yeah, you can tell that Andrew Smith guy to shut it. My hair’s beside the point. The thing yall should notice about me are my fucking masterful arms. Not too big, but not insignificant. The Goldilocks of male biceps, if you will. Now get in this car I just fixed with my rough-around-the-edges know-how and lemme buy you an ice cream cone.”
"Jesus Christ. Stop. No. I’m done listening. Put down the potato chips, take a shower, rub that lilac sugar shit all over yourself, and then do your goddamn work. Hand to god, no one cares about all your little twinges and aches. You got indoor plumbing? Then I don’t want to hear you complain. No, I don’t want any gelato. Good lord.”
"Dunno why I didn’t see it before. But you are always right. Let’s go get milkshakes."
"See, I can wear a goddamn BLANKET & look excellent. It’s all in how you work it, girl. Stop fussing with your t-shirt. Just step in your boots and go already. Time’s winged chariot and all that. Yeah, I know that poem. I went to high school, didn’t I? Sometimes I think you don’t even see me."
"God, you’re a funny lady. Have I mentioned that lately? You crack my shit up, girl. Gimme another piece of that pie you baked, the kind you have to eat with a spoon because it didn’t set right. Naw, I don’t give a shit. It’s goddamn pudding & crust. What’s not to love?"
See how my eyes glisten, Trish? They are tears of sadness because you are a slacker. No running your fingers through the magnificent hair until you finish your manuscri—oh, very well, one touch. But then back to work, you naughty girl.
"Fuck it, you’re right. Let’s just dance around the house all day long to the Pitch Perfect soundtrack in our underwear. Goddamn, but you have brilliant ideas, woman."
"Well no shit you want to hop on me; I’m the Master of The Henley Shirt, that’s why. Come over here & gimme some sugar. Also, your lips are so nice. Remind me of that one time I made out with Tom Hardy…I mean, nothing. Never mind."