I mean, I'm not exactly the deepest thinker in the world, and he was all, "oooh look I'm so smahhhrt," and I'm all, "here's why hockey is the greatest sport EVER," and he's all, "oooh, sports are dumb and so are the people who like them," and I'm all, "That is the greatest hamburger I ever ate in my LIFE," and he's all, "I grilled swordfish steaks over mesquite with a side of broccoli rabe and drank a slightly oaky chardonnay," and I'm all, "I'm wearing Payless shoes," and he's all, "look at my fancy French cuffs," and I'm all, "Look at that hot Camaro!" and he's all, "My Volvo has 200,000 miles on it," and I'm all, "Did you read Vanity Fair this month?" and he's all, "I'm going to read À la recherche du temps perdu on my summer vacation," and I'm all, "I went to Coney Island," and he's all, "I winter in Gstaad," and I'm all, "so are we gonna fuck or what?" and he's all, "no, dear, and anyway, we call it making luuuuurve."
Truth? I know exactly what he saw in me.
I'm an easy lay.
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