“No guy dates a girl for a whole month without trying to have sex with her,” Miranda insists.
“We’ve had sex. We just haven’t had intercourse.”
“Honey, that ain’t sex. That’s what you do in sixth grade.” Samantha.
“Have you even seen it?” Miranda asks, giggling.
“As a matter of fact, I have.” I point my cigarette at her.
“It’s not one of those bendy ones, is it?” Miranda asks as she and Samantha chortle.
“No, it’s not. And I’m insulted,” I say, in faux outrage.
“Candles. And sexy lingerie. That’s what you need,” Samantha coos.
“I’ve never understood sexy lingerie. I mean, what’s the point? The guy’s only going to take it off,” I object.
Samantha flicks her eyes in Miranda’s direction. “That’s the trick. You don’t take it off right away.”
“You mean you run around his apartment in your underwear?” Me.
“You wear a fur coat. With sexy lingerie underneath.”
“I can’t afford a fur.” Miranda.
“Then wear a trench coat. Do I have to teach you guys everything about sex?”
“Yes, please,” I say.
“Especially since Carrie’s still a virgin,” Miranda screams.
“Honey, I knew that. I knew it the moment she walked in.”
“Is it that obvious?” I ask.
“What I can’t understand is why you’re still one,” Samantha says. “I got rid of mine when I was fourteen.”
“How?” Miranda hiccups.
“The usual way. Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill and the back of a van.”
“I did it on my parents’ bed. They were away at a conference.”
“That is sick,” I say, pouring myself another drink.
“I know. I’m a very sick puppy,” Miranda says.
When is this blackout going to end?
1:45 a.m.
“Babies! That’s all it’s about. Who ever knew the world would be all about babies?” Samantha shouts.
“Every time I see a baby, I swear, I want to throw up,” Miranda says.
“I did throw up once.” I nod eagerly. “I saw a filthy bib, and that was it.”
“Why don’t these people just get cats and a litter box?” Samantha asks.