My ex and I used to have cats named Sweeney Todd and Mrs. Lovett. Don't laugh. I SAID STOP LAUGHING. Anyway, the cats didn't seem too terribly pleased with their names -- and for some reason they always had murderous, pie-making scowls -- and it was a rare occurrence that one of them would actually deign to sit on my lap. It was also a rare occurrence -- ahem -- that I would put my hand awkwardly behind my head and gratuitously flex my bent arm like I honestly thought people would believe I always took selfies of myself doing crunches on the couch with a murderous, pie-making cat on my lap.
So the important takeaways here are 1) That couch is actually blue, 2) My tattoo is a Sondheim quote that neither proves nor disproves that I'm gay and just happens to be on an arm that I just happen to look like thanks to unintentionally flattering camera angles I'm flexing as I do crunches on the (blue) couch with a murderous, pie-making cat on my lap, 3) OK, I think I might be gay but I'd never admit it on Facebook, 4) Oops, 5) The cats now live with our delightful and internationally savvy friends Brian and Tim, who have cleverly renamed them Tigris and Euphrates, 6) They (the boys and the cats) looked neither murderous, pie-making nor scowly the last time I saw them, 7) I wonder if I can get this list to go all the way up to 10, 8) Probably not, 9) Well, maybe, 10) Bingo!
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