For many reasons, I love my dear friend DJ Illux. There’s the fact that I almost burned a kitchen down with her in home ec in seventh grade. There’s the fact that she once cheered me up from a high school depression by bringing over an enormous earthernware pot full of soil and grass seeds (not that kind), proclaiming, “You can totally make a tea out of this stuff, and also, watching stuff grow makes you happy.” She did not sound like a hippie saying this, and how that is possible is anyone’s guess.
But no. The number one reason I love Illux is that the other night, on the phone with her, she made the following statement, in all seriousness:
“Dude, you know what? You should, like, totally get a male escort.”
I paused for a moment. We had been talking about boys, it’s true, but nothing I’d just said would seem to directly call for that particular suggestion. So I ventured that maybe that wasn’t exactly my style.
“I am totally and completely serious. You should just get one. You’re in New York! You can get anything there. If I were there, I would totally get an escort.”
OK, sure, but maybe that’s not for me?
“What about, like a massage? Do people get those?”
I think I know what to get Illux for her birthday.