Excerpt of messages from my friend (who asked that her identity remain a secret because she’s embarrassed to admit that she knows me in real life.)
me: Ugh. Don’t tell Victor, but I REALLY hate jizz.
friend: Um. Okay.
me: I mean, I get the draw, but it just doesn’t do it for me.
friend: Why exactly would Victor be mad at that?
me: Because he really likes it and he wants me to share his interests, I guess? I just can’t get into it.
friend: Speechless. What does he expect you to do with it?
me: Just enjoy it, I guess? He collects it.
friend: Like…in a jar? This is kinda TMI.
me: Oh, holy shit. I just reread what I wrote. Not jizz. JAZZ. I meant to write JAZZ. Victor wants me to appreciate JAZZ with him.
friend: Oh, thank Christ.
me: I really need to spell-check this shit before I send it out.
friend: The “i” and the “a” are like…not even remotely close to each other. Was that an autocorrect?
me: I don’t think so. I’ve never even written “jizz” on my phone before. I must have done it unconsciously.
friend: That’s a weird Freudian slip.
me: I guess I just had jizz on the brain.
friend: Stop typing.
me: No way. My phone is finally starting to recognize jizz. It’s like it’s learning.
friend: You’re corrupting your phone. With jizz.
me: Ew.
friend: I need a shower.
me: You and me both, sister.