mean-funny love

him: you’d look good in that dress if it weren’t ugly.
me: is it that ugly?
him: it ain’t pretty, unless by pretty you mean making a pretty girl look ugly, and you’re too old to be one of those pretty hipster chicks looking ugly on purpose.
me: thanks for telling me i’m old.
him: you’re welcome.

him: did you just fart?
me: no. you know that i laugh when i fart in front of people. i’m not laughing.
him: maybe it was me. i thought you were trying to trick me but it must have been my butt tricking me.

him: whoa…nice big hair.
15 minutes later after i stuck my head under the sink…
him: wow…nice flat hair.

him: you know your full-grown woman ass doesn’t fit in those child-size panties, right?

him: do you want red leather seats in your next car?
me: i didn’t think so…but…um…maybe someday?
him: that was a test. you failed. the answer is always no to red leather seats.

him: do you want me to buy you a plant to kill?
me: i only kill succulents and i’ve only killed two this year. buy me something other than a succulent and it’ll live.
him: i’ll buy you whatever you want but mostly i think it’s funny when you kill them. you act all mad and surprised and give the dead plant a stern talking to.
me: well, those fuckers shouldn’t die just because i water them a little every other week. i’m trying to give them life and the ungrateful idjits turn gooey black and die.

him: (stumbling out of bed to check on me when i walked in the front door at 4:30am)…do you need anything?
me: the gas light in my car came on tonight and my car is filthy.
him: i’ll fill your tank and wash your car but technically those aren’t “needs” and i didn’t ask you for an errand list.
me: i know, i’m sorry, thank you.
him: i know, i’m just fucking with you, you’re welcome.
me: i love you.
him: go to bed soon, okay? you look like hell.

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About angel joy

love is an action verb. i live love in action.
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