Conversation with Lynne about Girlfriend’s school fundraiser:
Lynne: How was your weekend?
Crissy: Fine. You have to buy a candle from my kid’s school fundraiser so she can learn how to write with like, real paper and pencils instead of scratching letters into the carpet with her fingernails.
Lynne: I’ll buy a fucking candle; I’m not buying from anyone else so consider yourself privileged.
Crissy: Thanks for buying a fucking candle. My kid won’t be illiterate now because of your generous candle buying.
Lynne: Where are said candles?
Crissy: Catalog on break room table.
Lynne: Oh ok. I shall purchase one tomorrow. If it stinks, your ass is grass.
Crissy: If the candles stink, I’m giving it to you as a Secret Santa gift. You better hope I don’t pick you this year because that’s what you’re getting. If my kid grows up to be illiterate, it’s your fault.
Lynne: I said I’d buy one. I’m even going to get a $15 one so shut off.
Crissy: You’re only buying ONE? I’m beginning to question your level of devotion to me.
Lynne: I have candles coming out my eyeballs at home. I have a kid in college, man. Cut me some slack.
Lynne: If I buy two I won’t be able to pay my mortgage; do you want that on your conscience?
Crissy: I don’t care about your problems.
Lynne: I thought not.
Crissy: I just looked at an entry in the catalog that said Depression Pottery and I thought “Who makes pottery when they’re depressed?” and then I realized it meant Depression ERA Pottery. I think I may be the victim of zombification, which, as you know is a real problem at this time of year.
Lynne: Depression Pottery; you make it then you break it and slit your wrists with it.
Crissy: Depression Pottery: Healthier than Vodka Sodas.
Crissy would tell you more about what happened after that, but it’s too much. There’s a lot that goes on at the library, obviously. And since nobody is probably going to comment on this because what is there to comment on, really, Crissy will include Lynne’s suggestion for Mister’s Halloween costume which took Crissy forever to find this morning, but when she doesn’t want to find it, it comes up by accident like in front of Girlfriend who saw it and said “hahahahaha! She’s kissing a PENIS!” and it made Crissy want to die a little bit:
There’s nothing like a precocious four-year-old to put Crissy’s rather impressive screen minimizing skills to the test, Queefies. Come to think of it, maybe Crissy doesn’t want Girlfriend to learn how to read. Around here, that would probably be a very bad thing.