There are few people in this world you make a connection with where nothing you say can phase them.
You can call them an asshole and they won’t bat an eye, but they may laugh at you.
You can say you’re jumping in the truck, getting the heck out of dodge and never coming back. Most likely, they will jump in with you.
You can call them up to celebrate the anniversary of the demise of both of your first marriages and they will happily oblige.
They get you.
They are your people.
I’m lucky enough to have a handful of those people as friends.
Brittany is one of them and also has this same relationship with Grunt. Grunt calls her Bitchy Brittany and she calls him Asshole Andy. It’s really precious, y’all.
Brittany rode with us to a friend’s kid’s birthday party last weekend. At some point during the ride, Grunt became very concerned about his last name dying out with him because he is the last male in his family who holds the family name.
He also realizes there’s no way in hell I’m going through pregnancy again.
And that’s when it dawned on him that the perfect candidate to deliver a male heir to him was sitting in the passenger side seat.
For thirty minutes, he tried to persuade her to be the surrogate with promises including letting her move in and be the nanny (I’m not sure what made him think that would be appealing), a boob job, and other outlandish offers. None of this phased her.
We get to the party and they both spot the pool. The water glistened, it had huge built-in umbrellas in every corner, there was a poolhouse. It was the nicest thing these rednecks had seen in years.
Both of them were drooling.
That’s when Grunt Labor offered the most appealing proposal.
“If you’ll be our surrogate, I’ll buy you a pool.”
And she said it was a deal.
Be on the lookout for Grunt 2.0, ya’ll.