G: So, where the hell have you been this month?
G: No shit. You could've left a message. Email? Frickin' smoke signals? Anything?
B: Chill. It's been a while. I was in the area. I just wanted to drop by and say hi.
G: You're lucky I'm not boffing some delicious guy...
B: Then you'd be the lucky one.
G: Are you coming in?
G: So what's up? Besides work?
B: Oh, a lot. Becky is driving me up the wall.
G: What now?
B: Freakin' owls.
G: I thought the department was forcing her out?
B: That was last month.
G: Huh. Beer?
B: Yeah. Thanks.
G: So how many years is this?
B: Eight. She's compiled enough data for two doctorates...
G: That's what happens when you start a master's with vague goals.
B: Yeah. Her advisors finally figured out that all she wants to do is bushwhack at midnight and hoot.
G: That's sad.
B: You want sad, check this out.
G: Man, what the fuck is that?
B: That, my friend, is a boil.
G: That is nasty! It looks like you're trying to grow a new head or something.
B: Yeah, well it sucks. It's right where my collar rubs. Hurts like hell.
G: You could go shirtless.
B: Yeah, that would go over really well with the judge. I hope you get a frickin' boil just so I can tell you to let your tits hang out.
G: That'd be attractive: A topless chick with a giant pulsating boil on the back of her neck.
B: As if any guy would care.
G: You've got a point. Seriously, you should put a bandage on it.
B: I've tried. Taping up a boil in the mirror isn't as easy as it sounds.
G: I'd sell tickets to that.
B: Yeah, well, the doctor's going to drain it next week.
G: Ugh. I don't like the thought of any part of my body being drained.
B: If you don't stop giving me a hard time I am going to drain my main vein in your freakin' sink.
G: But it's my job to give you a hard time.
B: That's why I keep coming back... you got anything to eat?
G: Do I look like Taco Bell?
B: OK. Let's see. We've got beer. We've got hard cider, butter, yogurt, soy sauce, but no chalupas.
G: Like I said...
B: Mind if I score a yogurt?
G: Go ahead.
B: How's Jim?
G: He's got his nose stuck in some Dekker quarto.
B: He's still working on that?
G: Yep. Comes with the territory... dating grad students.
B: Is that almost a jeer I detect? Well, we already knew there would be dire consequences when we signed on, previous experience and all.
G: You'd think we'd learn by now. Do you like being a lawyer?
B: I freakin' well better after putting you and me through hell in law school.
B: How about you? Does being an assistant professor turn your crank?
G: Yeah. I still like the work, but sometimes I get way too much pleasure out of just flirting with the students.
B: Looks like we still have a lot in common.
G: Too much.
B: So why didn't we ever click?
G: You're an asshole.
B: Yeah, but that hasn't stopped you before.
G: Great. And I thought I was just going to languish tonight, die of ennui...
B: I'd never let that happen.
B: Will you marry me?
G: Say what?
B: Will you marry me?
G: You're kidding.
B: Is this kidding?
G: Shit. How many carats is that thing?
B: Only one.
G: It's grotesque.
B: It's yours if you'll have me.
G: Are you fishing for some "last fling" or something?
B: I'm talking about the grandpappy of all flings. I'm talking about a big party with family and friends, carting you off to a realm of azure skies and drinks with little umbrellas in them, and spending our time on earth together.
G: You're not kidding?
B: I am not.
G: You're kidding.
B: Sarah, I want to be your husband. I want to have a little proofreader's caret on my head with a note saying "Insert here into your life." I want you to me my wife. I'm not talking about a one night stand or even a one month stand. I'm talking about you and me for a long time.
B: Why do you think I haven't talked to you in a month? I've been looking at my life, thinking about you, screwing up the courage to expose myself, to do what I'm doing right now.
G: Well, you ought to know that a woman isn't supposed to just lay down and spread'em because some guy just foisted his guts out at her.
B: I don't just want your sex, I want you.
G: Why now? After eight years?
B: You're beautiful. I knew your gorgeous head and your steel-trap intellect would want to weigh all the data. Fact: Our current relationships suck. Fact: We have yet to meet anyone else quite as interesting as us. Fact: We've always spent more time with each other than with our "significant" others. Fact: Time is fleeting. Fact: You are gorgeous. And fact: I love you.
B: So, Sarah, will you marry me?
G: Damn, Greg...
B: Tell me what you want. If it's "no", I'll do my best to pivot on my heel and go back to a life of surfing for porn.
G: Get up. Come here. When would the wedding be?
B: If it were up to me, we'd be headed for Reno tonight. Knowing your mom, it'll be next year, late.
G: Can we have a beadle? I've always wanted a beadle, like in Dickens.
B: You can have a beadle.
G: And religion? You know it's important to my parents that we invoke the correct deity.
B: Mazeltof... or whatever you people say.
G: Just think what we'll save on rent.
B: Always the practical one.
G: OK then. I accept. Yes.
B: You'll need to hold me up for a bit here.
G: No problem. Oh, and Greg?
B: Yes, Dear?
G: You're still an asshole.
B: I love you too, honey.
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