She: “I’m going to marry Prince William some day.”
Me: “Why? You wouldn’t be happy. There’s no way you’d fit in with the family and it’d make you miserable.”
She: “Just because I’m Catholic, American and disabled?”
Me: “Yeah. Why don’t you find a nice rock star to latch onto? There are plenty of single, Brit rock stars.”
BF: “I hear Tony Blair used to front the Clash.”
Me: “There you go!”
She: “Tony Blair? He’s kinda old.”
Me: “What about Milli Vanilli?”
BF: “Or was that the Boomtown Rats?”
Me: “Bob Geldof could be a nice fit.”
She: “…I don’t know, guys.”
BF: “Ah, c’mon. Things will only get better — Howard Jones!”
She: “…”
BF: “What? Howard Jones is not so bad.”
Me: “But the hair!”
BF: “That can be shaved. All sorts of things can be shaved.”
She: “Like what?”
BF: “Your face, time, the cat’s backside.”
Me: “I can’t play this game any more. I just went to my dark place.”
