Chapter Four
From the texts of Amanda Esposito
and Diana Daniels
Diana: Where have you been?
I thought today was your day off?
I’ve been calling you all afternoon!
Amanda: I’ve been at home, waiting for you to text like a normal person. You know I hate talking on the phone.
Diana: BUT I HAVE THINGS I NEED TO SAY IN A LOUD, ANGRY VOICE, AMANDA! TEXTING MY RAGE IS NOT NEARLY AS SATISFYING!!
Amanda: Lol. What are you ragey about? I thought you were enjoying the fun and exciting things the big city has to offer. Like cupcake shops, alcoholic ice cream, museums, and making out with sexy strangers on the beach.
So jealous of that last part, by the way.
There are no sexy strangers or beaches here.
It’s all boring all the time.
Diana: How many times do I have to tell you that boring is good?
Boring means nothing bad is happening to you, like having your first apartment rental fall through so you end up living with your brother’s friend, who also happens to be the sexy stranger you hooked up with the night before.
Amanda: What?! OMG you’re living with Sexy Stranger?!!!
Diana: I’m living with Sexy Stranger.
Only he’s not sexy at all.
He’s a bossy misogynist asshole jerk-face!
Amanda: In his defense, you tend to think most men are misogynist asshole jerk-faces.
Diana: That’s because THEY ARE, Amanda Marie.
Have I mentioned lately how your inability to see the oppressive fist of the patriarchy is mind-boggling and frustrating beyond belief?
Amanda: Not lately, but thanks for reminding me that I’m not completely lovable and perfect.
Diana: Well, of course you’re completely lovable and perfect. But you’re also way too nice to men who do not deserve the slack you cut them.
I assume you and Wonderdick are back together already?
Amanda: We are not back together.
We haven’t talked in four days actually.
Diana: Oh, good! Wonderful! Fantastic, even!!
Keep it up, girl! Oh, I really hope you stay broken up this time.
He’s the worst.
Amanda: I thought we were talking about your love life for once…
Diana: Well, we aren’t. Because I have no love life.
I HATE this guy. Seriously hate, Mandy.
I hate him so much I’m installing my yoga swing in the middle of his living room just to piss him off. And because it’s the only place with a beam high enough, but mostly to piss him off.
Get this—yesterday he tried to make a “house rule” that I had to wear a swimsuit in the pool and then insulted the size of my chest!
Amanda: Dare I ask why you were skinny-dipping in front of a man you barely know? I mean, aside from having made out with him for hours the night before?
Diana: I wasn’t skinny-dipping. I had on shorts and a tank top. The tank top was a tiny bit see-through when wet, it turns out, but it wasn’t like I was trying to be naked. And even if I had been, where does this guy get off making fun of my itty bitties? What is this, junior high?
Amanda: No, in junior high you didn’t have breasts yet, you lucky duck.
Diana: DO NOT START THIS AGAIN, MANDY!
I am never going to be grateful to be flat chested, and every time you try this with me, I want to stab you. Repeatedly. Preferably in one of your voluptuous Double-D-Cups.
Amanda: And I’m never going to understand why you aren’t grateful for cute, perky, manageably sized boobs! Seriously, I have a rash on my chest I can’t get rid of because my boobs create their own evil, swampy, rash-inducing eco-system, Diana. And they hurt when I run unless I’m wearing enough spandex to knit a giant slingshot. And if I didn’t personally know a doctor who lost a patient while she was getting a boob job, I would have them reduced in a freaking heartbeat. Half a heartbeat.
Diana: You’re out of your mind.
Amanda: Have we met, pot? I’m kettle…
Diana: Whatever. There’s still no reason for a grown man to insult my chest. He’s the worst. After Wonderdick. Please don’t take him back, okay?
Amanda: This guy certainly picked a touchy subject, didn’t he? He couldn’t have aimed a better arrow if he’d known you for years.
Diana: Ugh. I’m a cliché, aren’t I?
The short, flat-chested girl who is easily enraged by mention of my shortness and flat-chestedness…
Amanda: No, you’re too weird to be a cliché.
Diana: Thanks.
Amanda: You’re welcome.
So what’s next? Are you moving out?
Diana: I can’t. There isn’t a single room in Portland for rent in my price range. I’m going to stick it out here for now and pray I find a job so I can start looking in the “better than the ghetto” section of Craigslist. I’ve got an interview at a trendy online clothing company tomorrow. They’re opening their first brick and mortar store in Portland this fall and looking for someone savvy with a camera to make them look amazing on social media.
Amanda: You’ll be perfect for that! You make mushrooms and empty bird nests look like works of art. Think what you can do with actual people and cute clothes?!
Diana: Thanks. I’m so nervous.
Nature is easy to shoot beautifully. Nature cooperates, you know?
Amanda: I do not know. I prefer nature carefully contained, preferably surrounding a pool where I am lounging with an umbrella drink.
Diana: How have we stayed friends for over twenty years?
Amanda: Because I’m the only person who didn’t make fun of you for being a runt in kindergarten. And because you’re smart enough to recognize a keeper when you see one.
Diana: You are a keeper, Esposito.
I wish we were gay so we could get gay-married and live happily ever after.
Amanda: Me, too.
Even though you’re a freak who likes to talk on the phone.
Diana: I’ll be calling you later, by the way. I need to hear your melodious voice telling me everything is going to be okay while I drift back and forth in my yoga swing. I think I’ve got it installed well enough that it won’t fall out of the support beam and dump me on my ass.
Amanda: I look forward to a text from your swing.
Diana: Phone call.
Amanda: Text, you monster!
Seriously, what is wrong with you?
Diana: Love you, too. Talk later.