At no point do I expect a pale pink greeting card elaborately spelling out your affection for me.
Feel free to send someecard that will have me explaining to the censor nazis in the tech dept your awesomeness.
Because that’s the way we roll.
We get safe-words for time with “those married friends”, weekends with the ‘rents, and banging like rabbits.
If I ever receive a blender as a present, your man-business is the first thing I puree.
If you have a thing for French maids, you better check on Craigslist. The closest you’re getting to France here is champagne and a make-out session.
The only time it is acceptable to say “Hardy is so {insert exuberant adjective here}!” is when referring to a childhood memory of reading The Hardy Boys.
The day you wear Ed Hardy will be the day our (Facebook-official) relationship ends.
While the other gents are “checking in” with their old hags, I expect photo/video evidence of your fun.
How else are you going to decide on which one to get a lap dance from?
Your arm is sweating and I can’t feel my neck.
Sweet dreams sunshine.
We get separate accounts, (staying) secret passwords, and full use of the guest bath.
I don’t need to see the poke history from your sophomore year hook-up after the frat party.
If you ask me to “plz pk up dnr”, I’m going to assume this relationship does not need to be resuscitated.
FlavorFlav called. He wants his Adidas pants back.
I’ve got a passport, a backpack, and THAT bikini.
What time’s the flight?
I watched the film. If I want to hear it quoted, I’ll watch it again.
Finding the club with a plethora of them to dance the night away is our kind of fun.
No, buttercup, I do not find walking around for thirty minutes with a brown stain on the back of my white shorts entertaining.
However, If you like the phrase “Oh, I thought you knew,” I can think of other ways to apply it.
If you discriminate against Oak Ridge wine, then you discriminate against my savings plan.
