Page 14 of Clinically Awkward

Maybe Nathan?

Nathan: On call. Someone has to keep New Haven alive while you’re out laughing at dick jokes.

Me: Comedy is more sophisticated than dick jokes.

Nathan: Is it, though?

Me: ... Sometimes.

Nathan: Name one sophisticated joke.

Me: I don’t have to prove myself to you.

Nathan: That’s what I thought. Enjoy your dick jokes, Wesley.

Me: They’re observational humor.

Nathan: About dicks.

Me: I hate you.

Nathan: You texted me.

Strike three.

I seriously needed to find new friends.

Grumbling, I texted Hayden.

Hayden: Absolutely not. I’m 48 years old, Wesley. I’ve earned my weekends of peace and quiet. Go bother someone else.

Me: You’re not even 50.

Hayden: I’m 48 going on dead. Leave me alone.

Me: That’s not how aging works.

Hayden: You’re 32. You don’t know ANYTHING about aging. Call me when your knees sound like bubble wrap and you need reading glasses to see your own phone. Until then, I’m spending my Saturday night with a glass of scotch, a medical journal, and blessed silence.

Me: That’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.

Hayden: It’s called self-care. Look it up.

Me: I don’t think that’s what self-care means.

Hayden: I’m a doctor. I know what self-care means. Now stop texting me before I block your number.

Me: You won’t block me.

Hayden: Try me.

He did not block me. But he did send me a GIF of a man throwing a phone into a lake, which I chose to interpret as a warning.

And then there was Fitz.

Oh, glorious Fitz!

Fitz: Can’t mate. Got a date with a matching pair of airline stewardesses. TWINS, Quinton. Do you understand what I’m saying? I’m hoping to join the mile high club. Twice. Simultaneously. This is my Everest.