Cursed To Love You
“Why does this crap always happen to me?”
“Because you have the mouth of a sailor and the impulse control of a raccoon in a candy store,” she replied, dead serious.
“Okay, rude. But accurate.”
She suddenly snapped her fingers like she’d just solved world peace. “Wait! What if you say you were quoting Shakespeare?”
I stared. “Shakespeare. And what play, exactly, has the line ‘Fuck you, shit’ in rapid-fire succession?”
She shrugged. “A modern interpretation?”
“I’m gonna modernly interpret my foot into your shin.”
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