Luc O'Donnell személy

– Ja. Visszatekintve valószínűleg egy kicsit élesen fogalmaztam veled kapcsolatban.
– Igazán? – kérdezte Oliver kissé gyanakvó, ám reményteli hangon.
– Nem neveznélek igazi nagyképű seggfejnek. Talán inkább egy pökhendi popsipofinak.

– Bocs. Szívesen veled tartok a hetero barátaid bulijába.
– Köszönöm. – Megrándult a szája. – És egy kis jó tanács: ha hetero partin vagy, próbálj meg ne úgy utalni rá, hogy hetero parti.
Ciccegtem.
– Egek, kész őrület ez a politikai korrektség!

– A különleges currymet készítem – folytatta anyám.
Jó, ez eldöntött mindent.
– Akkor tutira nem megyek.
– Hogy mondhatsz ilyet az én különleges currymről, Luc?
– Úgy, hogy nem bírom, ha lángol a seggem.

23. oldal

–… És olyan dolgokon kezdtem el gondolkodni, amiken már hosszú ideje nem.
Úgy egy hónappal korábban azt mondtam volna erre, hogy „mondjuk, az elhagyott fiadon?”. De most csak ezt kérdeztem:
– Például?
– A múlton. A jövőn. A zenén.
Majdnem úgy tehettem, mint aki passzol a „múlt” kategóriába, de nem esett volna túl jól.

317. oldal

“Are we really bad at this?” I asked. “We’ve been fake dating for three days and we’ve already fake broken up once.”
“Yes, but we fake resolved our difficulties and fake got back together, and I’m hoping it’s made us fake stronger.”

“You really do own your illiteracy, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I’m thinking about moving to America and running for public office.”

“For the record, I’m really, really offended by this.”
She shrugged. “Darwin was offended by the Ichneumonidae. To his chagrin, they persisted in existing.”

“That reminds me. How did your date go?”
“It was awful. We have nothing in common. I think I might have sexually assaulted him. But we’re going to pretend to give it a go anyway because we’re both desperate.”
“I knew you’d work it out.”

Vigyázat! Felnőtt tartalom.

„Sorry to keep you waiting and no wonder you’re single if the second text you send a guy includes the word verisimilitude”
There was no reply. Even though I sat around ’til half one definitely not caring. I was unexpectedly de-sleeped by a buzzing from my phone at 5:00 a.m.: My apologies. Next time, I’ll send a photograph of my penis. And then several further buzzings.
That was a joke.
I should probably make it clear that I’m not intending to send you any pictures.
I’ve never sent that sort of thing to anybody.
As a lawyer, it’s hard not to be aware of the potential consequences.
I was awake now, which normally I’d have found profoundly objectionable. But you’d have to be a way better person than me not to enjoy the hell out of Oliver losing his shit over a purely hypothetical dick pic.
I also realise you’re probably asleep at the moment. So perhaps if you could just delete the previous five messages when you wake up.
Of course, I should emphasise that I am not meaning to imply any judgment about people who do choose to send intimate photographs to one another.
It’s just not something I’m comfortable with.
Of course if it is something you’re comfortable with, I understand.
Not that I’m suggesting you have to send me a picture of your penis.
Oh God, can you please delete every text I’ve ever sent you.
The influx of messages paused just long enough that I could pop off a reply. „Sorry I’m confused am I getting a dick pic or what”
No!

“Did you say the Devonshire Twaddles?” enquired Oliver smoothly. “Any relation to Richard Twaddle?”
“My father actually, God rest his soul.”
I stared at him. “Alex, you never told me your dad died.”
“Oh, he didn’t. Why would you think that?”
“Because… never mind.”