So no more Tinder?
Nope, V, I'm done with it. No more pointless sex bent over a dirty sink in a club bathroom or scraping my ass on a rusty alley dumpster with my underwear pushed down around my ankles. [To man staring at her] Eat your quinoa. [To Veronica] A few weeks ago, I had this joker. He comes, and then he bursts out crying. Turns out his wife had just dumped him. I was stuck there for, like, an hour consoling him, when all I really wanted was to go home to my own bed.
You could have just left.
What kind of person would I be if I just left him there like that?
The kind of person who uses Tinder to intentionally avoid intimacy on an almost daily basis.
It's not daily. I just... I can't be that person who wakes up in the wet spot of some guy whose name I can't even remembers again.
I would kill for a wet spot. With Kev on nights and me on days, we barely see each other, much less make a mess in the sheets.
What if I run over Svetlana with Kevin's truck? It'd be vehicular manslaughter, right? I'd get, what, eight years? Probably do four. I could do four years.
It's enough already with the "killing Svetlana" fantasies.
Tragic bathroom slip and fall? I hide in the shower, hit her on the top of the head with the toilet lid. Make it look like an accident.
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