If only I did standup. 

Sometimes I wish I was a standup comedian so that I could go on stage and say things like “Sometimes I cry in elevators” and it wouldn’t sound so pathetic. I would deliver it in such a way that the audience would laugh and shift in their seats to accommodate their active abdominal muscles.

Maybe I would tell them how when I met him he was light and carefree and by that I mean he was drunkenly singing karaoke and doing a dance that involved excessive amounts of pelvic thrusting. I knew I had to have him.

I could tell them how when we started there were more libations which made for an evening long soirée during which we talked among ourselves and multiple strangers and even narrowly avoided an orgy invitation.

I’m still trying to write up the bit where, without comment, he decides it’s all too much for him and walks away. I can’t quite pick out what would make that one funny. Although; that is where the part about crying in elevators was born, so it can’t be all that bad.

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