"So what's the deal with you and S?"
Silence. Awkward. Uncomfortable.
"Nothing. There isn't a deal...in fact there's less than nothing going on and that's the freaking problem. I'm fucking crazy about her...she's all I think about. Ever. I dream about her. And I'm not talking dirty, nasty sex dreams-I'm talking nice, sweet dreams where we're sitting on the couch holding hands. I actually dreamed that! I honestly don't see how everyone isn't totally in love with her. I mean, S is perfect. Fucking perfect. Unimprovable by God or man. I swear, if God himself descended from Heaven with a divine Etch-A-Sketch and gave me the opportunity to create the perfect woman, all for me, whatever I wanted, looks, personality, sense of humor, passion...all of those things custom tailored by me for me, the perfectly suited girl of my dreams, I'd hand it back and say 'Thanks, but no thanks, God. You've already made this.'"
"Wow...well, good luck."
"Yeah. I need all the help I can get."
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