The Fine Line

I sit in my living room watching TV with my best friend Sam Donovan while my dog, Samson Blackjack, lays at my feet…

Me: …Dane Cook is really starting to piss me off. I mean, get over it.

Sam: What the hell are you talking about? Cook is the modern Seinfeld. Observations, dude! We live his jokes!

Me: Whatever. Agree to disagree.

Sam: Idiot.

…a few seconds of silence pass by…

Me: I love you Sam. You’re my little guy.

Sam: What? Are you— what’d you just say?

Me: What?

Sam: You just said you loved me and that I’m your little guy.

Me: No you fag ass, I was talking to my dog. Get over yourself Dane.

Sam: Oh…laughs…I thought you were talking to me, creepy.

…a few more seconds pass by…

Sam: So tonight, do you want to—

Me: I really think you’re a cute boy Sam. I love giving you kisses.

Sam: Dude what the fuck? What are you trying to do?

Me: Holy shit man I was talking to my dog. Can you relax for a minute and get comfortable. You know that I have a girlfriend that I love.

Sam: True. It’s just that, everything you’re saying could go both ways.

Me: Yea, well, I guess I could go both ways.

Sam: What does that even mean?

Me: Forget it, you’re so gay.

…the next few seconds seem to take an eternity with the amount of awkward that fills the air; it’s palpable and can be cut with a knife…

Me: Listen Sam, I just want to say that I think about you when you’re not here and that I really enjoy everytime we make physical contact.

Sam: Alright asshole. There’s no way that you were talking to your dog that time.

Me: Wow, you’re ridiculous. I was merely saying that whenever Sam goes to the vet I miss him and that I like petting him and wrestling around. Not unlike when you and I wrestle. Can I show some affection to my dog without you accusing me of making a move on you? God, you’re not even my type.

Sam: You’re ty—?

Me: You’re so gay sometimes. I don’t even know why I bother.

…unbearable seconds tick past…

Me: I’m wearing your underwear.