Paradise by the Dashboard Lights

or Paradise by the Volcano Lair Light. Whatever.

Whenever you find yourself in bed with some hot chick, the answer is probably “yes!” 

Yes, if she’s only wearing a couple of Victoria’s Secret pieces under that blanket. (You can’t see her face. You might think you recognize her otherwise, but have no first base hand knowledge to back up that guess.)

Yes, if you were allowed to confirm this wardrobe choice as a result of your own tactile research on snap location and such, and not by merely looking. Or asking.

It’s better to ask forgiveness than permission, right? – Me, sometimes

Yes, because you are a fan of these sorts of potential interactions of the immediate future. Duh.

As always, you quickly hit that tipping point moment. In this case, more questions arise than your usual is this really happening? Is she stoned or blind or something? Will she take a check? This time, it is her questions: do you promise to stay as wildly funny and ridiculously insane? Will you always be that guy for me?

This is also the tripping point. Avoid the reflexive deconstruction of the query. [Karma: There’s a first time for everything!] Your answer is not supposed to be a perpetual eternal universal guarantee. It’s really more of a request for aspirational, forward-looking optimism. Like, “No, it won’t get weird. Lasst es uns auf.”

Unless it does…

but that happens four minutes hours later. RIGHT NOW is what matters.

Put another way: When Gozer the Gozerian asks if you’re a god, Ray, you tell her YES!

(Unless the question is marriage. Give that one more thought this time.)

None of this mattered when it last happened to me, because that was this morning right before the alarm went off and woke me up – and right after the moment was lost.


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