Me: Since what?
Emerson: Since SHAWN
Me: So?
Emerson: Don’t make me come down there and bend you in positions you don’t belong in
Me: I’m a yoga instructor
Me: There’s no position I can’t bend into
Emerson: You should mention that to Shawn
Me: I’m pretty sure he already knows
Emerson: !!!!!!!!!!!!
Emerson: Details, please.
Emerson: NOW
Me: We did yoga
Emerson: And?!?!?!
Me: And nothing
Me: He’s a client
Emerson: He’s hot!
Me: Aren’t you engaged?
Emerson: To the hottest man on the planet, who reminds me of that fact on a regular basis
Emerson: But that doesn’t mean I can’t recognize hotness in others
Emerson: Shawn is F-I-R-E
Me: You sound like you’re twelve
Emerson: You sound like you’re ninety
The accusation hits home. Though I know, like Shawn, she doesn’t mean it, it still stings. Especially coming from Emerson, who has known me for years—and knows just how crazy things in my life tend to get. And why I cling to security like…a ninety-year-old.
I’m trying to think of a response that won’t let her know she hurt me—she didn’t mean to, so what’s the point—when her own comes through.
Emerson: Sorry. Low blow
Emerson: Didn’t mean it, Sagey
Me: I know
Emerson: I just want you to be happy
Me: I am happy
Emerson…