Me: I cant stand the suburbs of (town). Whenever we drive through, I feel like I should drink every time I see yoga pants. I would be fucking lit before we left the subdivision.
Jason: I actually like it there. It seems like there’s some normal people.
Me: You’re not slowly trying to lead me towards suburbs and children are you? Because if that’s the case we have a conversation we need to have and I have bags I need to pack.
Jason: No no, that’s the exact opposite of what you should be worried about. I’m coming from the position that I would be stealing wives of (town) and talking them out of their yoga pants.
Me: You know, it’s a small community. Word would probably spread quickly and I don’t think their husbands would take too kindly to that.
Jason: It’s borrowing, not stealing. They seem neighborly down there.
Me: Is this something else I should be worried about?
Jason: No, no you shouldn’t.
Me: OK then.
Jason picks up his steak with both hand and takes a huge bite out of it.
Me: You really should have been a Norse invader or a clansmen the way you’re biting into that steak. All furry with war paint. Wielding a fucking ax or broadsword or something like that.
Jason: I told you I have no couth. And it would be a fucking ax. And which end I used would depend on the day. Is it all business or pleasure? Rape or pillage? Ugh. That piece was a little fattier than I thought.
Me: I’m sure you never said that after a drunken night.
Jason: No, actually, I haven’t.
Me: Well. I suppose as long as you remember to pillage before you burn. . .