Say nothing.
I showed up at her house in a trench coat with a boombox over my head. The music must’ve woken her up.
“What’re you doing here?” she asked, clearly annoyed.
“Can’t a guy wear a trench coat and play Peter Gabriel’s ‘Big Time’ on a boombox under the window of a girl he’s in love with?”
She looked angry.
“Yes,” she said. “But that girl is not me. Because I was your waitress one time two weeks ago, and you can’t be in love with me.”
“Says who?” I asked with love in my eyes.
“Says, oh, I don’t know, it’s impossible. You don’t even know me.”
“You can learn a lot about someone by following them around Forever 21,” I reminded her. “You like the color red.”
“Jesus Christ,” she said. “Wait, why are you playing ‘Big Time’? The song John Cusack played in Say Anything was ‘In Your Eyes,’ dumbass.”
“It’s supposed to be a subtle dick joke. Get it? ‘Big’ time?”
“That does explain why the tip of your penis is hanging out of the trench coat,” she said.
“That’s the entire thing,” I replied.
“I should get back to sleep,” she said.
“Shouldn’t we all?” I said, as the Tylenol PM kicked in and I fell asleep on the sidewalk.
I woke up the next morning in her bed, safe and sound. Maybe she did have feelings for me after all.***
***Just kidding, she left me on the sidewalk and I was awoken when I felt an ant begin climbing on my foreskin.****
****This foreskin was not on my penis. I carry it in the breast pocket of the coat I’m wearing as a talisman against evil spirits.
