Post-surgery (sorry to keep bringing it up, my sexy walking boot tan line seems to be a topic of discussion occuring at a frequency far too high for anyone's tolerance...) driving has been a bit of a dilemma. Thus, one of my most regular life dil-Emma's has been driving me around like a dedicated driving sister slave. On one such occasion when being picked up from work, I was assaulted by her ravings about Margaret spoiling this season of the Bachelorette. For the first few seconds I was relieved that the target of her wrath was not me, as it was last season when I told her who Brad picked. FYI... Reality Steve had it wrong last season anyway so I don't really see how I can be held responsible for ruining it for her with the wrong person in the end, but my fate was sealed a year ago.
Margaret and my mom were watching a preview for the Bachelor Pad (another high quality program watched by the Lichtenfels Women to enrich our lives and boost our self esteem) and Emma overheard something about Ames ending up happy with her. The "her" was not specified, so Emma stormed out in a blind rage certain that Ames won. For non-watchers, Ames has degrees from Harvard, Yale and Columbia, and when he was sent home this week told Ashley their love had been poetic. GIRL. What are you thinking. At least get knocked up with his kid before you send him home and then pick the guy you want.
Now, it seemed obvious to me from the beginning that _____ was going to win (which he is, if Reality Steve didn't jack this one up too) and I pointed out to Emma that obviously Ames didn't win and if she used her brain she could easily guess. At which point the lightning bolts of anger were redirected to myself and the car was pulled over and I was told to get out.
Like I said, it would be lovely to tell you that blow up fights rarely occur, let alone over reality TV, but that would be a lie. Anyways, that fight progressed into a full family fight with lots of crying and a dinner made to make it up to me. Which made me realize that, in true I am a girl with issues who acts like a boy fashion, food is the way to my heart.
Last night, I had one of those "so, summer is coming to an end, where is this going" discussions, and following being told that school and my friends would come first, that there would never be anger or pressure over my being busy and that he just wanted to be with me, he said the magic words: I will buy you Starbucks.
Bing bang boom that's how you seal the deal baby. Well, not literally because then I'd end up with a baby and have to stop drinking caffeine, thus the Starbucks offer would go to shit. But metaphorically. Make me pasta, feed me sandwiches from my favorite place, buy me BBQ burgers on a first date and ignore the BBQ sauce on my cheek and arm, and then offer to buy me Starbucks and all that "Oh, it's just fun" business may possibly be considered. Or "prossibly" which is a word I invented to night which means possibly/probably. In case you ever are in a sitch where you want to say both but be confusing (reverting back to the girl side of your complicated self.)
Prossibly food is the way to everyone's stomach. And obviously I need to go to bed because I meant to write prossibly food is the way to everyone's heart. Food and Starbucks.
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