Sh*t Garris Texts

Garris has taken up drinking over the past couple of years, having spent the past thirty as a near-teetotaller.  She gets a tad feisty when she does imbibe, for the benefit of all she texts.  Which is just me.

This one time, I ordered masquerade masks for my a New Year’s Eve dance and upon their arrival in New York, Garris had trouble uploading a photo.  Garris is not so technologically savvy.

On aforementioned chaperoning trip, I took students to Georgetown’s favorite restaurant.  Garris wanted to make sure I had my head screwed on right.

Chaperoned a student trip to Washington D.C. (to see the Pope, which is why I was up at 4am), on which I saw some high school and college friends.  Garris wanted to know how things were going.  Garris must know how things were going.  Garris repeats the question.  Garris changes the order and number of question marks and exclamation points, but only slightly.  Garris waits eleven hours before sending another text.

Girlfriend sends Garris chocolate. Garris flips a shit. Son responds with vulgarity.  Garris eats her effing favorite.

This one time, I got a tattoo in Hebrew, and Gare-bear flipped the eff out.

In reality, Garris is the last person on earth I want to be my matchmaker.

I told Garris I was going to a Theology on Tap event, a gathering for Catholic young adults to theologize and socialize.

Takes a theologian to raise a theologian, I guess.

Good morning, Garris.

It begins.