Orion

"I don't get constellations."

You stop in the middle of trying to get the wobbly zipper of your jacket to work (it never zips higher than like two inches up from your belly button, which makes you look totally dorky but you always forget until you've already started zipping, and then it doesn't seem worth it to undo it) to stare at your best friend, Jamie. "What?"

"Was everyone insane, or what?" Jamie gestures skyward. "It's dots. Not hydras or princesses or warriors."

"I mean, you're supposed to imagine them," you say slowly, worried that your friend is a lot dumber than you previously thought, but not wanting to say so right away.

"Uh, no shit. But, come on - that's clearly a box. That's a line. That's another lopsided box thing. What kind of idiot looks at Boxy McSquiggle and is like, 'Gee whiz, what a swell magic hunter man! Willikers!'"

You can't help but get a little defensive. Since you first figured out the concept of constellations (you have this memory of learning about them in fourth grade, but that can't be right, can it? you must have known about constellations before then), you've always had a soft spot in your heart for Orion. It was the first constellation you knew how to identify. His belt, the bow in his hand, his faithful dog, Sirius.

"Probably someone who had an imagination," you say, trying to inject as much acid as you can muster (which isn't much) into your voice.

"Probably someone who had way too much time on their hands, you mean," Jamie says, too focused on being clever to notice your attempt at sarcasm.

You sigh, because you're not really mad at Jamie. You never are. Sometimes you think being Jamie's friend is kind of like being a constellation yourself: you're pretty interesting and you've got some neat stories, but someone's gotta be pretty invested to find out about them, and - besides - you kind of pale in comparison to the loud, colorful carnival that is Jamie.

Jamie snickers. "Ha, look, those stars down there below his belt make up his dick."

"It's Orion's sword," you say.

"How's it hanging, Orion?" Jamie crows. "To the left!"

Horoscopes: Who's your celebrity love match?

too bad you're not Matt Damon
        or Zac Efron
        or Kim Kardashian
        or any Libra, really

because then we would date

we could go to the zoo
        you could try and impress me with
        facts you learned from
        Steve Irwin

you could take me to the carnival
       and bribe the ride operator to stop
       the ferris wheel just like in
       The Notebook

because all girls love The Notebook

we could go dutch
it would be no big deal

but it's not in the stars

sorry.

Cons and Cons

I hardly think not changing the toilet paper roll is grounds for divorce. If we're going to fuck all this up, surely we can think of a better reason.

Like how I watch so much porn. Women aren't supposed to like that, right? Of course, you always watched it with me, which is one of the major reasons I married you in the first place.

Maybe that's a good excuse. "I find it hot that you like porn" probably shouldn't be a major reason for marriage.

You probably thought I loved you.

That probably pisses you off.

Or what about your cat? You know I'm allergic, and you have to admit it's fucking irritating when it scratches on the bedroom door at 5 a.m.

Credit card debt. A newfound interest in religion. Hamburger Helper. Conflicting astrological signs.