Your Honor:

so i was sitting in a pink ford focus on the way to the happiest little gay bar in town with my peppy blonde ex-cheerleader not-really friend, kerri at the wheel. the speakers throbbed sugar ray track three on repeat as her mouth went on and on about how: everywhere she goes, hotties (aka "hot men") are always giving her the look (hungry) and asking her out and she just doesn't know what to do about it since *sigh* she's been dating nonstop since, like, forever and she just feels like she wants to take some time off and, you know, find herself. being that i'm going through a six-month (plus or minus two years) dry spell with the last recorded stir of sexual subactivity ending in the theft of my three favorite pairs of black nylons and a polite twelve-page letter detailing my physical flaws, i did what (at the time) the situation naturally seemed to call for.

i backhanded her.