Literally seconds after I hit publish on that last post, my phone rang.
"Hello?" I said.
"Oh hey, I didn't expect you to pick up so I had this elaborate message all planned out."
"Sorry to disappoint. What was your message going to say?"
"I can't remember anymore."
"I thought you'd be out."
"Well I was supposed to go out. A friend of mine was having a party and she was supposed to text me about it but she never did. It's like, this stuff happens more and more..."
"I know what you mean," I said. "Today I heard these people from school talking about some movie they all went to see together."
"And you can't say anything about it either, right? Cause you don't want to be that guy... And I mean, eventually you just have to assume that it's because you're completely unlikeable, right? I mean, what other conclusion is there?"
"I know!" I laughed. "It is so weird that you say that, because I just wrote a blog post about it."
"It's like, you try to be friendly, right? You're a pleasant person. We're not terrible people."
"Really," I said, "this is so weird. I literally just posted about this, right before you called."
"Yeah? I'll have to check it out then."
"Meh. Probably don't bother."
"Why not? Maybe I'll get some good insights."
"You know you only like to read my blog when you think you might be in it."
"So do I get to be in it?"
"Well, I guess you'll have to say something good."
Lately we've been having reprises of the same conversation. A couple weeks ago we compared holiday weekends. "You know what I did on the 4th of July?" he said. "I watched a Netflix movie and drank champagne and made pancakes. I probably shouldn't even be telling you this."
"I watched a shitload of tv and ate apple pie and ice cream," I admitted.
"You know what it is? I think we're just getting old. People don't want to hang out anymore."
"Maybe. Or maybe we're just terrible people."
"Maybe. Tell me a story?"
And though I am quite possibly the world's worst teller of erotic bedtime stories, and though I usually manage to crack myself up in hysterical laughter in the process, for some reason he continues to request my stories, and he asks so nicely, and I get so much amusement out of the whole thing that I don't usually say no.
How it usually goes is this: lots of build-up and setting of scene and descriptive detail, and then at the end, "Well, you know what happens next."
"No, tell me."
"I... they... you know."
"Well, I really appreciate all the detail you put in your stories, but they do tend to fall apart at the end there, don't they?"
"Yeah," I agreed.
"That's ok. Now let me ask you a question about women..."
"Ok," I said happily, switching my phone to the other ear and settling in for a long talk.
We might both be terrible people, but at least we are terrible people with unlimited night and weekend minutes. And sometimes when you're down, and nothing is going right and there is no more pie, if you're lucky your phone will ring at exactly the right moment, and it will be someone who, weirdly enough, sort of knows exactly how you feel.