The last time we spoke you drank coffee while I drove,
and you sang "guess the artist" for me. If I'd known it was
a litmus test, I might have tried harder, but I'm always the
last to know these things. Like when we actually became
"an item" - if I'd known it was a date, I might have
fixed my hair, put on some lipstick,
or not talked about my marriage so much.
So I asked you, "How many games of solitaire must I play
before I cross the line into having no life?"
And you answered, "You have friends and family."
I was actually hoping for a number - like twelve or 72.
But then you told me you like curvy women,
and it turns out I, too, have a litmus test.
and you sang "guess the artist" for me. If I'd known it was
a litmus test, I might have tried harder, but I'm always the
last to know these things. Like when we actually became
"an item" - if I'd known it was a date, I might have
fixed my hair, put on some lipstick,
or not talked about my marriage so much.
So I asked you, "How many games of solitaire must I play
before I cross the line into having no life?"
And you answered, "You have friends and family."
I was actually hoping for a number - like twelve or 72.
But then you told me you like curvy women,
and it turns out I, too, have a litmus test.
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