That Fucking Pager
I think that fucking pager was a novelty at first. Look at my boyfriend, he’s such an important man – a HERO! My heart would race whenever it went off, and I’d do the jobs that he’d reserved for me: trainers by the front door, keys on the couch, can of Red Bull next to them. It was a ritual that we become accustomed to, a job I was proud to do.
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