Last night I decided to text this girl I’ve been talking to and turn on some charm. She’s a brilliant woman; in addition to smarts, she possesses many of the other traits prized by the superficial male. She’s gorgeous.
Our chats have been totally wholesome and innocent, and I decided it was time to take things up a notch. However, before deciding that, I’d decided to consume a heroic amount of wine in a relatively short period of time. The girl’s name starts with an A. As luck would have it, I also have a friend named Adam, which, coincidentally, begins with an A.
Long story short: today around noon Adam texted me, wondering why I kept texting last night insisting he’s “a total cutie.”