This is how I imagine it would go. . . .
Me: I’m going out again.
Fran: About time. I need some air. You’ve left me sitting here all day!
Me: Girl, I was working! Now, it’s time for you to work, so let’s go.
Fran: Sure, you only pick me up when you need me. I feel used. It’s fine, but it hurts, you know.
Me: No offense, Fran, but I like to breathe freely when I’m in the comfort of my own home. You know I love you though, right? You make me feel safe in those stretchy arms of yours. And never forget—you take my breath away.
Fran: Aw, thanks. Happy to be of service.
Me: Okay, let’s go, yeah? It’s nice out.
Fran: Cool, yeah. Nice nails! Finally cut them, huh? Climber thing, I know. Oh . . . the sunglasses are coming too? Great.
Me: What’s wrong with them?
Fran: Umm only that they’re the shadiest thing ever! You can’t hear the deals they’re making on the street. It’s an object telepathy thing. Just be careful.
Me: What does that even mean?
Fran: I don’t know! Just keep an eye out. Literally, if you can.
Me: Whatever. Okay, on you go.
Fran: GOD, HOMEGIRL, WHAT DID YOU EAT?
Me: Okay so there was a little garlic in my lunch! Leave me alone. A girl’s gotta eat.
Fran: Sure, but you could pop some Altoids dude. I know you have some in the junk drawer.
Me: Yeah, yeah. Wait, how do you know that?
Fran: I told you—object telepathy. Altoids are the cool kids on the block. They always have the freshest styles.
Me: Well, sorry I eat your friends.
Fran: Eh, whatever. It’s the circle of life . . . .
Me: I love Elton John! You can tell everybody this is your song . . . .
Fran: Aw, that’s sweet. Mind keeping it down a bit though? Your breath still reeks. Did you gnaw on raw cloves or something?
Me: . . .
Fran: Sorry, that was rude. Please talk to me.
Me: *Exhales long and slow*
Fran: Ah, dude. Not cool!
Me: *Grins*
Fran: Two can play that game, you know. Next time someone coughs, I’ll be sure to let a little in.
Me: Whoa, whoa. Down girl. No need to get feisty. I smell it, too, you know. Besides, if you do that to me, and I get sick, who’s gonna take you for your daily walks?
Fran: Girl, I see you mouthing “neener neener neener.” Not cute. There’s a playground over there if you wanna embrace your not-so-inner child.
Me: Ha, pot calling the kettle black, you glorified face diaper.
Fran: Funny. So . . . what else have you been cooking up these days? I’m getting coffee, onion, broccoli—all the good stuff, huh?
Me: We don’t need to talk about my diet.
Fran: Easy for you to say.
Me: I made vegan pizza last night though. Turns out you don’t need the overly priced vegan cheese.
Fran: Thought I smelled that smokey tempeh.
Me: God, yeah, love that stuff. It’s like the vegan’s smoked bacon. Saving the world, one little piggy at a time.
Fran: Don’t be so full of yourself. If anyone’s a hero here, I think it’s me.
Me: Or I’m the hero and you’re just the cape.
Fran: Please. I catch snot and bad breath. I think I deserve a medal of honor for that.
Me: It takes two to make a thing go right . . .
Fran: Yes! But seriously, stop singing. The breathiness is killing me.
Me: Killing me softly with [her] words . . .
Fran: Okay, I’m done. Let’s just walk in peace, huh?
Me: Cool, yeah, Namaste. *Inhales, exhales*
Fran: If only I could projectile poop mints.
Me: Gross.
