Although Laura was not able to make it to last night’s GRE study session, my spirit was not dampened in the least bit for the special Gorgonzola dip I prepared to accompany the crudités was an immense success. And without Laura there, Jane Halsey, my token plus size friend, felt quite free to show her love for the hot wings by wolfing down every single one.
This morning, I woke up at 6am and went for a light jog. I heard somewhere that joggers in New York City had worse lungs than those who did not run at all due to the city’s air pollution, but until I see a study that tells me the average jogger is fatter than their non-jogging counterpart, I’ll keep on running until my soles wear out and my lungs are black. When I got back from sullying my lungs, I found Julian McAlister sitting on my sofa, while William gave him a glass of orange juice.
Now, I don’t have to tell any red-blooded female that the sight of your douchebag ex sitting on your sofa with a smug mug is not how you want to start the day. Just looking at him brought back nauseating memories of that moment when I walked in on him having sex with the French girl the day I got back from my trip to Paris. A quiet Alanis Morissette part of me wanted to giggle about how ironic it was that we had both ventured into France. I quickly got rid of the thought and Julian began his third mea culpa.
This time, however, he seemed to be serious. Cupping his strong broad hands against his chiselled face, he sighed and declared he could never forgive himself until I forgave him. Then, he came a bit closer and announced it was time for us to heal and that he wanted us to be friends, real friends. He smelt spicy and repentant. I turned to him and without glancing at his face, casually agreed that I wouldn’t mind having him as a friend. After all, now that I had a real boyfriend, what did I care if he nailed every Gallic lass under the sun? If he screwed around, it was none of my business any more, but he was right, it would be nice to be friends.
Not to give him any other ideas, I swiftly rid him from my house and immediately called Sarah Walsh. Tonight, Anne and I were to attend a local fundraiser for underachieving Christian children, and Sarah would be there with her boobs pushed up to the high heavens and wearing a mini that could double as a belt. See, I have a gut feeling that underneath this feigned piety, Anne Beeker has it in for slutty types. I would be introducing Sarah as a friend who was looking for ‘direction’ and all that will be left to do after that is let Sarah seduce the nutjob and get some photographic evidence of Anne’s inclination. Well, I will let you know how it goes tomorrow. Right now, I have coffee with Laura where I’ll have to berate her for leaving me with Plain Jane and Dippy Tippy last night.