The following is a brief text conversation I had with my man a few minutes ago (you'll note he's saved as Eric Smith in my phone, so as not to be confused with all the other Erics I'm always getting texts from).
Eric Smith: The gas station im [sic] at has a donkey fenced in a pen. You can place a quarter in a machine and get feed.
Me: Oh, that's a blog post, baby. Please feed and send pic.
Eric Smith: Baby, this is a business stop. No frills. [translation: Kimberly. I am at work. With men. Big men. Full of sperm. I will not be feeding cute animals with my quarters. I'll be buying condoms in the bathroom because men think condoms are hilarious.]
Me: Well who's going to tell that to the hungry donkey? [translation: I don't believe you and I want that picture!]
Eric Smith: Good question. There is also a llama.
Me: Naturally. I bet the llama's hungry too.
Eric Smith: Maybe it could eat the donkey? [translation: you're not getting the picture, woman.]
It's 4:48 and that's the last I've heard from Eric Smith. Next time I talk to him (maybe tonight, maybe in two weeks), he'll tell me they went out of service. Translation: when men are at work, they don't have time for donkeys or women--which are basically the same thing to the working man.
OK. That's not fair. In reality, Eric Smith goes far out of his way to make time for me. He climbs to the tops of mountains to get one crappy bar on someone else's cell phone to give me a call. He drives an hour and a half from Monument just to spend a few hours with us. He leaves his friends and coworkers behind on his days off and spends all that time chasing Ayana around the couch. Um, yeah. I'm bragging. He's a good man.
And as though to prove this point...it's 4:53 and I just received this picture:
There's a donkey in there, folks. I don't see the llama, though. Probably the donkey ate him. Even more probable is that he's off somewhere, eating the handful of feed Eric Smith got for his quarter.
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