The Name's Blonde.

J. is one of the funniest people I know. I don't know what it is, but if you get he and I together we laugh and laugh and tell stupid jokes and we make fun of our differences. Early Wednesday morning I took him to the airport for his fantastical trip to NYC for the great ball drop.

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C: Here, put your bags in the back seat.

J: Whatever. You just wanted to get out of the car to show off your boots and dress and whatever.

C: I did NOT! They are nice, though, aren't they?

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J: You're straight today. What's that all about? I mean, you're straight every day. I mean, your hair is straight today. I mean... Geez, that was awkward. I'm going to stop talking now.

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J: That blonde in Starbucks was cute. No ring. And a Coach bag.

C: I don't like Coach bags. Especially little ones. She had nice shoes though. I bet she's really high maintenance.

J: You're right. Besides, I'm leaving town today!

C: Just for the weekend, J. Sheesh!

J: Nope! I'm leaving town today!

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C: You need a high maintenance woman like that. She would be good for you.

J: I know, I know. What does that mean, and more importantly, what does that say about me, you know, as a person?

C: Did you know surrogate mothers make $40,000 a year?

J. "....."

C: "......"

(silence.)

C: What?

J: I just get worried. Every time you say stuff like that to me, it makes me think you're about to pitch some idea you have.

C: No, no, noooo. I meant that having a high maintenance wife is still cheaper than hiring a surrogate to have your children. Sheesh!

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J: Well, since we don't have to spend a lot of time hugging at the airport, here, look over this school project for my class.

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J: At least let me get you a latte for the drive to the airport.

C: Ok. It's really not that complicated! I mean it really isn't! I don't see what the big deal is when I go out on dates. It's just a grande-decaf-peppermint-white-mocha-two pumps peppermint-two pumps white mocha-SOY- latte... did I say Soy?

The end.