Page 255 of The Doctors Will See You Now

Me: No, you don’t.

Amanda: Yes, I do. People click with all sorts of unexpected personality traits, Low. I really thought there was a chance you would hit it off.

I sighed heavily. Then something occurred to me.

Me: You’re still laughing, aren’t you?

Amanda: Yep.

Me: I need a new best friend.

Amanda: You just need to give your best friend the exact, detailed version of your sexcapades last night. Also, I feel like I should warn you, if you’re looking for a new best friend, you don’t give a very good first impression.

Me: Hey!

Amanda: #sorrynotsorry

She really was a bitch. Luckily for her, I kind of liked that in a friend.

Amanda: Details?

I sighed again. All this fucking exhaling was wearing me out.

Me: It wasn’t anything too exciting. After Barron attempted the worst oral in the history of oral, we moved on to the sex. And while we were doing the sex, which surprisingly, wasn’t terrible sex, he tried to flip me over and ended up pushing me toward his headboard. Which, that fucker was made out of glass crystals. Word to the wise, glass crystals and foreheads are no bueno.

Amanda: Why in the fuck is his headboard made out of glass crystals?

Me: Exactly my point.

Amanda: What a weirdo. I’ll admit it’s hilarious, but I’m glad you’re okay. Take some pain medicine, caffeinate, and call me later once you’ve finished working.

Amanda: P.S. I need your help with packing! Like seriously, how does someone pack for a long trip to Europe in only one suitcase. It’s impossible. Help. Me.

I’d almost forgotten that my best friend would be leaving for her big trip to Europe soon. Her PR company had recently signed this up-and-coming—and extremely hot—Spanish musician named Mateo, and the lucky bitch would be gallivanting all across Europe for the next month promoting him.

If that didn’t remind me I needed a career change, I didn’t know what would.

Although, PR was definitely out for me. Actually, anything related to celebrities was out. I’d had more than my fill through my Gossip column.

Me: Ugh. Stop flaunting your Europe trip in my face.

Amanda: Love you ;) And you better call me later or be prepared for a full-on catfight.

Me: Calm your tits. I’ll call you later.

By some miracle, I found the strength and willpower to move from bed, but it didn’t take more than the beginning of the climb to realize I wasn’t going to be a big fan of movement today. “Ow, fuck,” I muttered to myself and held a hand over my newly stitched forehead as I slowly stood up beside my bed.

Sex injuries are no joke.

It was safe to say last night sucked serious goat taint.

There is no penis out there that’s worth this kind of hassle.

The mere idea of attempting another first date or even one-night stand had me shaking my head. Never again, Harlow. Never fucking again.

Sure, a girl needed the D sometimes, but holy hell, I’d maybe give changing up my masturbation routines a try first before attempting another situation that resulted in last night’s version of hell. Even if the hottest guy with the most perfect penis were sitting in my living room right now, with his sexy man parts hard and on display, I’d tell him to get the fuck out. Take your bad-news penis somewhere else, fictional dude of my daydreams!

Plus, I needed coffee, ibuprofen, and a long Gossip-column writing session. There was literally no better motivator than the fear of losing your job over a missed deadline.