Who's Ever Going To Read This Anyway

Snapped out of a dream by the alarm clock, I reach over and silence my pest. Buzzing alarms always remind me that there is somewhere I don’t want to be looming in my near future. I stare at the perfectly rounded numbers 08:00. The Chinese believe that 8 is a lucky number. Fuck the Chinese. Before I could even drift back to sleep I hear my phone calling to me, like a child that knows exactly when the parents awake, my electronics today refuse to let me miss this occasion. Fuck me, right?
I roll over to see what important penis enlarging offer was in my inbox that my spam filter found necessary to allow through, like a sentry heralding great news to the monarch of the land that is my groin. Or what great video online that my mother finally saw (after everyone has already forgotten about from it’s viral celebrity back in the ether of history that was 6 months ago.) Turns out it was neither, worse yet, it was a phone call.
I hate the phone. No one ever calls with good news, that’s what texts are for. Phone calls are always “we need to talk.” It was Andy.

“Dude, I’m here. Let’s go.”
“You said 9:00” I remind him
“I said 8.” He reminds me.
“I heard 9.” I lie.
“We’re gonna be late.”
“Let’s not go then. Nothing worse than showing up late.”
“You have 10 mins, shower and shave, I’m gonna get us come coffee.”
“Ugh, I hate coffe… sound great.”

I stumble to the shower and turn on the water. I stare at my reflection as the water beings its evolution from unbearably icy to managable tepidness and weight the decision of my shave. My three day shaddow had the distinguished look of a prisoner and the tender caress of sandpaper. All in all the look I was feeling, but was it what I wanted to put out there? How would that be recieved? Maybe they’d send me home. Or maybe I’d just be looked at as the pathetic loser I was. Shave it is.

By the time I shower and shave and found something decent to wear my coffee was is and Andy doesn’t seem to happy.

“We now have 15 mins to get across town” He chastises me.
“You’re right, we should just go to the casino instead.”
“We’re going, you’re gonna smile, and tell her you’re happy for her.”
“But I’m not.”
“Well it’s her wedding and she really wants you there.”
“Just not next to her.” I mumble; luckly the sound of his truck was louder.