Every summer, my best girls and I road trip up to our friend Jess's house on the St. Lawrence river, where we spend four days playing cards, gorging ourselves on cookies and peering suspiciously at the Canadians across the river. When we all get together, our collective maturity level devolves to that of a pack of thirteen-year-old boys who giggle uncontrollably anytime somebody says the word "hard." One particular manifestation of this is an obsession with "that's what she said" jokes, which we take turns passing around-- but after a while we get a little over-zealous with it, and some of the jokes get a little strained (not that that stops us from trying).
After I got home, I went through a couple tough days of withdrawal--whenever I try one on my fiance, instead of laughing, he tends to just get a look on his face like, "why the hell am I marrying a teenage boy?" And then there I was, at work on Wednesday, minding my own business, when my coworker went to lift a heavy binder off the shelf over her head. "Man, that's big," she muttered to herself.
I LEAPT ON THAT LIKE A GOD DAMN JUNGLE CAT.
"That's what SHE said!" I shouted triumphantly, leaping up from my seat with a combination fist pump/finger-stab.
I am. So very cool.
