On Thursday afternoon, my friend, Joie, sent me a text message to ask me how I was faring with my bum leg. I wrote out a transcript of the conversation below. As you will soon discover, both Joie and I are absolute delights.
Joie: Hey gimpy. How’s the foot? Hope you’re not in too much pain.
Kevin: Hey walky, it’s all splinted up. There is discomfort because of the swelling and abrasion against the splint, but the ankle doesn’t hurt as much today. Thanks for asking.
Kevin: It sucks not being able to drive though. Can’t even go to work.
Joie: Nice! Can’t drive with the other foot?
Joie: If you’re headed to downtown area, either Lee or I can pick you up and carpool. It’s on our way to work.
Kevin: That’s not a bad idea if you’re willing. I work at [cross street] and [cross street].
Joie: Crazy bastard, you’re not supposed to take me up on the offer! Don’t you have sick leave?
Kevin: Oh shit, I mean no! Fuck carpooling! Go choke on a granola flavored ****, hippie!
Kevin: And yes, I have sick leave.
Joie: I’m kidding. Seriously let me know when you’re thinking about going back to work.
Joie: Don’t say tomorrow.
Kevin: How about tomorrow, hippie?
Joie: Whatever.
Good thing Lee doesn’t read your blog cuz I didn’t bring up the carpooling thing with him yet.
Hey! That is the weirdest thing EVER! I work at [cross street] and [cross stree] too!! What floor are you on?
Holy crap, this is either a crazy coincidence, or you are some kind of wizard. I’m on the []th floor. What about you?
What, serious!? I was there a few months ago for lunch. On the {}th floor they have a café that serves great egg salad.
FYI, I refuse to drive you anywhere even for egg salad.