Kristin gets to the heart of the plot.
“Then how the fuck even do they do take-out?”
Probably not the best first line to shout over the phone to your husband of nine years, but we didn’t get this far with him thinking I’m a gentle, kind soul with a proper tongue and a mind for manners.
For his part, he laughed.
It was the second call in this series, so I don’t blame him. And maybe I was sleep-deprived. And maybe I had just hiked 11 miles with a six-year-old at Yellowstone and was bee-lining back to California. My points still stood, however.
“If sixty seconds of a conversation can ruin a bowl of food and make somebody throw it away, take-out is inconceivable. Even with some special space blanket to keep the food warm, it’s ruined by the time you get it home and dish it out. This is bullshit. I’m over these books.”
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