"Whew, I'm glad size is not an issue for you." I wipe my brow in jest. "And that you're a fan of Napoleon Dynamite."
"To be completely honest with you, my last boyfriend was 45, bald and had a little tiny penis," she confesses. "It's really, ultimately about the other things you offer."
"Like, a full head of hair." I comb my fingers through mine. Finally, Autumn coughs up the digits and I put them into the celly before we part. The next day, Jett calls me up to compare notes.
"You call that bizzatch who gave you her number?"
I sigh, "I did, but I think I messed up. I'm one digit short, like the dude whose finger ended up in that Wendy's chili."
"At least she didn't give you the loser line, bud," says Jett. "You know, that number on KISS-FM that girls give out to guys they don't want to hook up with."
"True," I agree. "'Cause that would've sucked harder than a crack whore on all fours."