The wedding is sometime in 2035 and you’re all invited

Archer: I must admit, this is my first blind date.

Thalia: Yeah, mine too. I can’t believe our moms, setting us up like this.
Archer: So, uh, what do you want to do?
Thalia: Um…I guess we could compare feet or something.

Thalia: Say, those are pretty nice feet.
Archer: You don’t think they’re too big? I get ’em from my mom.
Archer: I can’t help but notice your
President Poopyhead T-shirt. I take it you’re also a democrat?
Thalia: You drool too? No way, me too!
Archer: So then the baby says to the bartender,
“what do you mean you don’t serve minors…”
Archer: Um, mom? A little privacy here?
Thalia: Mom, you’re like, TOTALLY embarrassing me.
Go back to trading birth stories, or whatever.

(Thanks, Rebecca, for making my first in-person blog contact so enjoyable that Nate had to call me and yell at me to get the hell back to the hotel already because it was way past the baby’s bedtime. Bad mommy. Great afternoon.)

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